


Pupper

by CC_Writes



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Blood, Caboose - Freeform, Characters Added As They Appear - Freeform, Huggins - Freeform, Lopez - Freeform, M/M, Supernatural - Freeform, Tucker - Freeform, Werewolf, carolina - Freeform, donut - Freeform, sarge - Freeform, tags added as needed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-07
Updated: 2018-09-14
Packaged: 2019-03-28 06:36:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 62,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13898382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CC_Writes/pseuds/CC_Writes
Summary: It's about two in the morning when Grif finds the dog, beaten and bloody in the ally behind his apartment. With no other ideas he decides to try and save it.It's a pretty weird dog though, a odd color, a lot smarter than it has any right to be, and it's HUGE. The longer it's there the stranger things get. Was it really such a good idea to take it in?Is it even a dog?





	1. Big Red Dog

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Prim_the_Amazing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prim_the_Amazing/gifts).



> Yes its another AU, yes it's werewolves. Got the idea when I noticed that when there were AUs like this it was always Grif who was the wolf, so I decided to flip it this time. 
> 
> You can also blame Prim_the_Amazing, who hashed out ideas with me and ultimately gave me the motivation to put this to paper, er, computer? who I am gifting this too in revenge! ;p
> 
> Chapter specific warnings: Descriptions of animal abuse and injuries.

 

 

It was about maybe two in the morning when Grif found the dog.

 

  
          He was lugging out his trash to the dumpster, located in the side ally that flanked his apartment building, the building next to it, and the fenced-off empty lot, perpetually choked with weeds, and grass taller than most kids.

Grumbling and groaning, he made his way down the needlessly long strip, flip-flops slapping the recently rained on pavement, bags scrapping and bouncing behind him when he couldn't be bothered to carry them properly. If it were up to him he'd just leave them on the front porch or the curb for the collector to grab, but if he did that the landlady would be on his ass... Mean old bitch.

Don't misunderstand, Grif didn't like 'living in filth', like you might assume, listening to him gripe. It was just so much _work_ , bagging it all up, taking it down when there was too much... They were so _heeeeavy_... Nothing was worse than the day when he'd try to put just one more thing on the mighty tower sticking out of the plastic trashcan in his cramped kitchen only to have it topple down. He could cry!

(Sometimes he did)

You might ask, why wait? Wouldn't it be less heavy? Yeah, but then he'd have to go down more often! See the problem?

So the best way to go about it was just to hold out as long as possible before taking it down.

Still a gigantic pain in the ass, but a less frequent one.

  
          He'd just finished hefting the last bag into the metal monstrosity, with a grunt that was in no way overly dramatic, when a sound caught his ears.

It wasn't even anything really terrible, not a blood-curdling scream or a gunshot, not a police siren or a screeching animal. It was the almost playful _plink_ and rattle of a soda can getting knocked over and rolling away.

It, in no way, scared the daylights out of him. He did not whirl around and then jerk back, jabbing himself in the spine with the edge of the dumpster, and he most certainly did **NOT** make a high pitched squeal that would have been devastatingly embarrassing had it been heard.

"Fuck! _Son of a bitch!_ " the heavyset man hissed under his breath, hand trying to move to the place he'd hit even as he tried to make himself invisible against the side of the filthy metal bin, eyes flying wildly in the direction of the noise, heart clamoring loudly in his ears, as he strained to hear anything against the silence.

But he didn't, there was no further sound, not a thing out of place... Maybe the wind had knocked the can over? He probably looked like a total moron, fucking cowering like one of those shaky purse dogs in a dirty alley-

His breath caught and he froze, hair on the back of his neck standing up and goosebumps breaking out on his skin. Jesus fuck! Were those eyes?! Those were fucking eyes!

  
Or maybe not?

It had only been a flash but he could have sworn he'd seen them, reflective like a cat's, glinting in the dark.

Maybe he should run? Or just leave quickly, pretend nothing was wrong...? ...Save face...?

Wow. This was pretty stupid, wasn't it?

Taking a deep breath Grif pushed himself to his feet with only moderate trembling. In time for a massive shape to come tumbling out of the tall grass.

He made a strangled squeaking sound and scrambled backward, spinning to run away from the giant, vicious, monstrous, whimpering, slavering for his tender flesh- wait, _whimpering_?

The Hawaiian skidded a little and slowed to a stop about a third of the way back up the alley.

_What are you doing you dipshit!?_

Panting slightly Grif turned and looked back. Nothing following him and he could vaguely see the shape of whatever it was (or at least thought he could) down at the end where it had, presumably, fallen.

_You aren't seriously thinking about it..._

Yeah, there it was, faint, probably thanks to the acoustics, a tiny little whine.

_You're not..._

Combing strands of long, wavy, hair out of his face, licking his lips nervously, Grif took a hesitant step back towards it. Then another.

_Oh my god!_

  
          Slowly and with no small amount of trepidation, Grif returned to where he'd originally been by the dumpster. As he did the fear in his chest slowly turned to worry. The whimpering was louder and more frequent the closer he got to the shadowed lump, eventually, it was joined by a wet panting and the occasional light scrapping of nails against the pavement.

"Oh fuck..." he breathed as he came upon it, face scrunching up in sympathy when he could finally see what it was.

Laying on the ground, sprawled on the pavement, probably having crawled from a hole in the fence, was a dog.

A **big** dog.

Like _really_ **big**.

  
          Light back here wasn't too great so Grif pulled out his phone, prodding the screen until the flashlight turned on.

The large animal scrabbled and thrashed when the area lit up, whimpering and making a shrill almost shrieking sound.

In a fumbling panic Grif turned the light off, scared the poor thing would hurt itself even more, and it was hurt, even the brief glimpse he'd gotten showed that much. A bit hard to tell with what seemed like the rusty red color of its fur but there were dark patches and streaks that looked wet and there had also been the sharp glint of metal, which seemed to indicate the injured dog was tangled in something.

Shit... What was he supposed to do? Cops wouldn't lift a finger for something like this, especially not in _this_ part of town and vets didn't do house calls or have ambulances!

Not to mention the cost...

Carefully, Grif eased down into a crouch, "Hey big guy," he began, trying to be calm and soothing, "or girl, whatever." he reached out slightly shaky fingers to brush the fur on its head, "I'm here to help, okay buddy?"

The tips of his fingers barely touched the messy tousle of fluff when the dog thrashed again, head whirling around and sharp teeth snapping just millimeters from his skin! Close enough for him to feel hot breath lick the tips of his fingers!

Grif yelped and toppled backward onto his ass. He yanked his hand to him, breath shaking and pushing back the telltale sting in his eyes the understandable surge of fear had tripped.

He glared at the dog, it's head twisted back to look at him, ears flat against its skull, teeth barred, as it growled threateningly.

"Hey!" he snapped, temper mixing with the wet wobble in his voice, "I'm trying to help you, you big furry asshole! Cut that shit out you could have bit me!"

To his surprise, the animal's face seemed to relax, and it turned its head back away from him, a quiet painful whine bubbling up from its mouth.

With a soft exhale Grif righted himself, fumbling to shrug off his hoody. Once he succeeded he dangled an empty sleeve over the dog, lowering it towards its face. The growling started up again but paused when the sleeve bumped the dog's nose, and was replaced with a sniffing, chuffing, sound. After a couple of long, tense, moments, the inspection died down and the hound bopped the sleeve with its nose and lay its head back down, whining softly.

Grif let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding, "Okay... That's good right, big guy? You know I'm not gonna hurt you right?"

Hand trembling faintly he took back his sleeve and offered the back of his hand, there was the briefest rumble, then more sniffing and a weak prod of a cold, wet, nose to his skin. Relief washed over the Hawaiian, "Good... Now, what do I do?"

He weighed his options as he very gently ran the pad of his thumb against the top of the animal's snout. That felt wet too... Not good.

_This is a really stupid idea._

  
          "This is a really stupid idea." Grif gathered his hoody up, draping the fabric over the length of the animal, "Don't bite me, got it? I'm just trying to help." gingerly he began wedging his hands under the dog, feeling the fabric catching slightly on whatever was wrapped around it, he was starting to get a good idea of what it was, unfortunately. "Man I hope you're lighter than you look." the dog wiggled and whined but didn't do anything else.

"Okay," Grif braced himself, "one, two, three!" with a groan he hefted the massive animal up, nearly dropping it when it twisted and thrashed for a second, whine turning sharp and painful enough that he almost put it down.

"I'm sorry!" he felt the prickle at the corners of his eyes again, but could he be blamed? It sounded like he was killing it! "I'll go as fast as I can, promise, I just gotta get you inside."

  
True to his word Grif tried to be as careful as possible while hurrying back down the alleyway, surprisingly the dog was lighter than he'd expected, still really heavy, but he could lift it. Maybe it wasn't as large as it looked? Maybe it was just really fluffy? Either way, it meant they could make it inside. Maybe then he could actually help the poor thing?

 

* * *

 

          The late hour turned out to be a blessing, there wasn't anyone awake aside from him, especially not the landlady. No one to freak out at him for carrying a massive, bloody, dog wrapped up in a hoody into his apartment.

But really, what else was he supposed to do?

Once he'd actually fumbled and staggered his way through his front door, into the apartment proper, Grif was faced with an immediate problem. Where was he supposed to put this thing?

His first thought was the bathroom, but that was woefully small, to begin with, there was no way they'd both fit in there. So penultimately he decided on the kitchen, while still small there was at least enough space to put the poor thing down, and the tiles would make for easy cleaning. Which he was very much not looking forward to, but even he wasn't going to leave blood on the floor.

Carefully laying the worryingly still animal down, Grif peeled his jacket off of it to get a better look.

He couldn't help balking at what he saw under the faintly buzzing kitchen light.

  
First of all this dog was _huge_! It must be part husky or something, it looked longer than he was tall! It was kind of thin looking, maybe it had been a stray for a while? It didn't look like it was starving, then again it might not be that easy to tell with the heavy fur coat it had. Speaking of, he wasn't an expert on dogs in any capacity but he'd never seen one this color before; while it had the same darker spots he'd expect on something like a husky or one of those other big Shepard dogs, its color overall was a rich dark red color. Russet? Was that what it was called? Or was that too brown? Red was something rare in dogs right?

Oh, whatever, fuck it, the dog was a redhead.

It was a real tragedy and Grif found himself actually getting mad the longer he looked because at one point this had to have been a beautiful fucking dog! Who could be sick enough to hurt it like this? Because someone clearly had!

It was laying on it's left side but Grif could still make out the odd disfigurement on that side's front and back leg. They were all mangled and weird, there was a faint fuzz of fluff on parts but overall they seemed to be badly scared, there were patches that looked bony, almost like bark? It had a similar scraping patch over its left eye too and Grif wondered if that meant the poor thing was partially blind?

The darker streaks of fur he'd seen before were indeed soaked with blood, most seemed to be on the animal's sides and back, three or four that he could see, and its muzzle was streaked with it too. Because it was hurt or because it'd fought back, he didn't know.

But the worst part. The thing that made his fists clench in anger and his heart clench in painful sympathy was what he'd only caught a brief flash of before in the alley but was now clear as day under the ceiling light.

The dog was wrapped in barbwire.

It was everywhere. At its worst near the neck, but it was wrapped around its middle, its haunches, parts of its legs, and down on one of its back feet, were its ankle would be if it were human, was a knotted piece of frayed rope.

This wasn't an accident. Not a stray or escaped pet wandering into a place it shouldn't be and getting snagged.

Someone had done this **deliberately**.

  
          "Shit..." Grif cursed under his breath, nearly overwhelmed by the whole thing. He had to do something, but what if it wasn't enough? He couldn't afford to take the big pup to a vet, even if there was one open now. If he'd left it in the alley it would have died for sure! So... The only option left was to try and help it the best he could and hope it made it.

He took a deep breath through his nose. Okay stupid, think, what first? Get the wire off right? Right. He'd need... Pliers? Did he have those?

The animal gave a wet hacking whine and Grif's eyes widened in alarm. Suitably motivated, he scampered out of the kitchen and around the corner to the tiny hall closet.

He was almost assassinated by a vengeful broom handle, probably holding a grudge from its lack of use, but he batted it out of the way and tossed it out into the cramped hall, where it was soon joined by other things as he raided the closet.

With a relieved crow of triumph, the heavy man whipped back into the kitchen with a dusty little toolbox tucked under his arm. He all but slammed it on the counter, ripping the lid open and fumbling about for something he could use.

Yes! Near the bottom of the mess of metal and plastic was a pair of pillars, the kind with the little wire cutter near the joint. Ripping a mass of paper-towels to make a little mat on the floor he knelt down by the large animal, facing its belly.

"Hey," he called, and a broad pointed ear flicked in his direction, "I'm gonna get this off of you, okay buddy?" he did feel a bit silly, talking to the dog like it was a person, but that kind of thing was supposed to help right? Keep letting it know you were there and not dangerous, so it wouldn't eat your face?

_Its totally gonna eat your face._

"Sniff?" he asked, cautiously offering the back of his hand again, and a pair of surprisingly green eyes opened to look blearily at the offered appendage, the one on the left looking paler than the other he noted before the dog gave him a light sniff, then a barely there lick. That was a good sign! Right?! That meant they were buddies now in dog language or some shit?

  
          "You know, I always wanted a dog." Grif found himself saying out loud as he tried to figure out where to start, eventually just saying 'hell with it' and picking a random spot in the middle, "Had one for like five minutes." he grunted in mild surprise as the wire popped apart with a quiet snap, much easier than he'd expected, "Kai, that's my sister, she brought home a puppy from one of the neighbors, back when we lived in Hawaii. It's an island, lots of sun, long beaches, big ass ocean, You'd love it! Or... well maybe not, probably too hot for you, huh? Anyway, the neighbors. Their dog had a litter and they were trying to find homes for them, so Kai just scooped one up." cutting again farther down he gingerly pulled a seven, or eight, inch segment of wire free and dropped it on the pile of paper towels with obvious disdain.

"Knew it was too good to last, but we played with it all afternoon." he smiled at the memory, starting in on another segment, "Was like a retriever or something, mix I guess, yellow with brown on its legs like he'd been in the mud. Tail just going fucking nuts, the happiest little shit you've ever seen." another strand in the pile, "Didn't get to keep him though. Mom was pissed as hell when she got home, made me take him back." he frowned, tossing two more bits aside, "Kai cried all night. Was awful..."

Well, shit, now he was depressed...

"Bet you've got someone missing you too huh big fella?" Grif hummed, "Are you a fella?" he carefully untangled a long piece from the fluff on the dog's stomach, sneaking a quick peek when the animal moved it's leg to free it, "Yup, you're a boy." Grif laughed.

To his surprise the dog huffed almost indignantly and kicked the now freed leg at him slightly, making a soft whine when the motion aggravated the little cuts that were left behind.

"Hey," Grif chided, trying not to laugh, the dog was still in trouble after all, "don't do that. I don't know how bad you're hurt yet, I don't want to have to give you stitches.... Oh god, please don't make me have to give him stitches... I'm gonna fuck up this dog..."

  
         Removing the barbwire took longer than he'd been expecting, parts had been twisted tight and bent around one another. More than once he nicked himself on the sharp barbs, hissing and cursing out whatever shit bag had done this. The middle had been the easiest part, the back legs had been worse, but the neck had been a _nightmare_. The wire was twisted around itself into a nearly solid mass and had cut frighteningly deep into the flesh of the dog's neck. Grif had been uncharacteristically silent during the removal, terrified that one bad slip and he'd end up killing the dog. He nearly had a heart attack when clipping a cluster of wire caused a gush of blood from behind it, grabbing up a mass of paper towels from the counter he pressed it frantically against the wound. The dog struggled, crying in a way that sounded so human that Grif felt tears finally spill over and he chanted apologies over and over into the red fur as he struggled to keep him still, ignoring the faint sting in his fingers from scraping them raw on the wire.

When he finally had the courage to move his hands he nearly sobbed in relief, while still bleeding it was very faint, not the flood he'd been dreading. The gush must have been blood trapped by the wire like a dam.

"Fuck..." he breathed, gingerly patting the wound, trying to stop shaking and blink back the still hot tears, "If I ever find out who did this to you I'm gonna fuck them up! Fucking break their teeth, I swear to god."

Pulling the remains of the horrible 'collar' free, he shakily got to his feet, gathering up the paper towels holding the rest of the hideous metal mass and dropped it unceremoniously in the empty side of the sink. He'd figure out how to throw it away later.

"Probably some shit kid. It's always a shit kid." Grif growled to himself, poking around in the sink, looking for a bowl, aggressively scrubbing it when he found one, "Either some punk from a poor neighborhood who decides there's no hope so ' _guess I should take it out on some helpless animal_ ' , or some rich little cancer who thinks its fun to cut up dogs for fucking funsies because hey ' _its just a dog_ '!" short lived rant over he filled the now clean bowl with hot water from the sink and took it over to the dog, punting the roll of paper towels off the counter as he did so, watching them bounce and then roll to a stop near his guest.

Nice aim at least.

Doing his best not to spill he sat down and pulled off a wad of paper to soak in the bowl before inspecting the neck wound, "This is probably going to sting like a bitch, but gotta at least clean it out. I don't think you're supposed to put peroxide on it..." he paused, "shit... Do I have bandages?" whatever, he'd figure something out. Gingerly he dabbed the wet towel on the cuts, the dog stiffened and yipped at the sting but actually seemed to be trying not to move.

"Good boy." Grif soothed, "Pain in the ass I know. Gotta get it clean." cautiously he slid his hand under the animal's head, "Okay, lift up a bit, let me get the other side." much to his surprise the hound acquiesced, leaning against his hand for support but still trying to keep his head up.

"Good boy," the Hawaiian praised again, trying to wipe the wounds down as quickly as possible, "you're doing such a good job. Almost done. Clean up your face and then we can look at those cuts, okay?"

Unfortunately, there wasn't a hell of a lot he could do for the blood all over the big guy without giving him a full-on bath, and he had the feeling that that was a low priority for doggo right now. Probably just wanted to sleep it off, hopefully, survive the night. Still, he seemed to appreciate Grif wiping the blood on his snoot, exhaling in that kind of huffing sigh dogs did when they were content.

  
          Moving on to the cuts, Grif found himself surprised and relieved once more. Aside from some scrapes, the dog's belly was just fine, and when he moved up to the large gashes on his side, pawing about in the soaked fur until he found them, he was delighted to see that they weren't wide open, in fact they looked like they were already clotting and trying to heal.

Good. That meant (hopefully) that there wasn't any internal damage. And if they were already bleeding less that meant dogger wasn't in danger of dropping dead on the floor! ...Right?

Once he'd cleaned them out the best he could, Grif was then saddled with the issue of dealing with the cuts on the dog's other side. "Crap... Guess I've gotta make you roll over..." waiting till the dog looked at him he made a circular motion with his hand, "Do you know that one? Roll over?"

He got a flat look in response, but then the dog looked oddly resigned. With a high pitched whining groan the dog heaved sideways and turned onto his belly, panting softly and huffing through his nose.

"Good dog!" Grif cheered, hurrying to the other side to inspect it for damage. His hand went, without thinking, to his new fluffy buddy's head, punctuating his praise with soft stroking pets.

He'd been right in his guess earlier about the scars, there were more on this side. (Had this guy been in a fire or something? What gives?) Wasn't as prominent as the left limbs and were mostly hidden by fur, but they curved up along the ribs if you felt for them.

There was only one cut over here too, fairly long, from shoulder to flank, but seemed it wasn't near as bad as the others had been. It was almost closed in fact. “Good,” Grif murmured, as he wiped the area down, “just a graze.” less grief this guy went through because of some asshole, the better.

"Need to think of something to call you..." the brunette mused, "at least until I figure out where your family is..." he swiped the paper towel through the reddish fur, "How about Rusty?" the eye he could see stared blankly at him, "No good?" he grinned, "what about Lucky?" was that dog glaring at him? "Eh, I'll think of something."

 

          Finishing up and dumping the reddened water down the drain Grif now faced another issue.

Bandages.

He frowned, he didn't have any gauze... Had a first-aid kit somewhere but that had like band-aids and little pads.

Maybe something makeshift would work? Like it just had to be cloth and clean, didn't it?

"Don't go anywhere," he ordered, heading out of the room to see what he could find.

Easier said than done...

  
          He ran the gambit of clean towels (of which there were none), to old sheets (also none) and finally settled on a button up he'd gotten for his birthday or Christmas or some such thing like a million years ago. Never worn and perfectly hideous, shoved in the back of the closet and forgotten.

In a way, it was the perfect opportunity to get rid of it.

  
          Doggo was trying to sit up when Grif came back in, shaky and exhausted, nails clicking on the tile as he struggled to push himself up.

"What did I say about moving?" the human chided, heading for the counter drawer he was pretty sure had scissors in it.

The dog looked at the floor and huffed.

Kneeling down, Grif held the soon to be former shirt up so the dog could see and sniff it, "You can't see colors so you probably don't know," he informed the hound, "but this thing is fucking ugly." well no not entirely, "I mean, the color isn't bad, its red, like dark red, but you see these things?" he gave the shirt a shake for emphasis, "its called like... paisley? Yeah, those are like, ice blue. Let me tell you, man, I don't give a shit about fashion or nothing but this is..." he shivered dramatically, " _Huuuugh_!"

He held up the scissors and snipped them once or twice, "So its totally fine for you to bleed on it!" the dog blinked, "Well not like a dangerous amount!" Grif corrected, already hacking the thing into lazy strips, "Just the normal amount, the amount that you bleed when you're gonna get better. No more than that, got it?"

The dog looked at him, then the shirt, then back to him, and then very faintly, came a _thump thump thump_ , as his big fluffy tail wagged just a little bit.

  
Grif's heart may or may not have melted.

  
Doing his best not to make things worse, the heavyset man looped the strips around the dog's neck, trying to keep them tight enough to be proper bandages but not so much that it would choke the pup or dig into the cuts.

"There we go!" Grif checked the makeshift patch job over, "All done!" he looked about the floor, "Guess I just... Gotta clean it now. _Ugh_..." much as he did NOT want to clean the floor he was also very much unsettled by the look of the bloody smears all over the tile...

Sometimes shit really did need to be cleaned, even he could admit that.

Before that though...

"Come on boy," he urged, "think you can walk a little bit? Don't wanna spend the night on the floor do you?"

The rust-colored canine stumbled a little bit but managed to haul himself up onto all fours, looking up at Grif with a sort of hesitant wag of his tail.

"Good boy." the tail went just a little faster and ears perked.

"Like that huh?" Grif asked with a touch of amusement walking the short distance to the living room slowly so the pupper could keep up, noting his ginger steps and slight limp, "Like hearing that you're a good boy?"

Could dogs give derisive snorts?

  
          Moving to the old but, in his opinion, comfiest couch in the world, the Hawaiian pulled down the couple of blankets he'd tossed over the back, after sleeping there the night before. He spread them out, trying to make them into a suitable place for the injured animal to sleep on.

They might be messy by morning, but he'd have to wash his hoody, and the clothes he had on now, anyway. So might as well... Hopefully, the blood would come out in the end...

"Think you can hop up here, dude?" dog was pretty big so it shouldn't be too hard to get up right? He patted the blanket covered cushion, "up?"

Like he'd thought, there wasn't much of a jump involved in getting up there, but the dog still took a moment to judge the distance, or to prep himself, and whined when he made it up, legs wobbling as he padded about to get in the right position to lay down.

Grif found himself by the animal's side with his hands up, like some weird spotter, like he could brace or catch the big ass dog if he fell. Picking him up and carrying him had been a miracle already, catching him was going to end up with them both on their asses and would probably take out the crappy coffee table in the process!

Thankfully though, no one fell and the dog settled down, taking up almost half the couch, even curled up in a little ball like he was, and Grif righted himself so he no longer looked like a giant idiot.

"Its kind of old, but, this couch is amazing, its the best thing in this whole shitty apartment!" he bragged, "So you'll sleep like a baby! ...um, puppy? Sleep like a puppy?"

The dog lay his head on his paws and sighed softly into the blanket.

Grif fussed a little, trying to think of anything else he was supposed to do. "You are comfy right? Maybe I should get you some aspirin? Can you have that?" he fished his phone out of his pocket and searched his query.

His eyes went wide at the answer that popped up, "Okay no! No human painkillers at all, ever! Doggies cannot have! Noted!"

Trying not to think about how he could have killed the dog he'd just (hopefully) saved, Grif awkwardly shuffled back towards the kitchen, "I'll be right back! I'm gonna umm... Gonna take care of that floor now! And not totally murder you with aspirin like a fucking idiot."

  
          Kitchen clean up, thankfully, turned out to be less of a nightmare than he'd expected. On the whole, the worst thing about it (besides the fact that it was cleaning ) was the mess itself. The fact that it was blood made his stomach turn a bit when he crouched down to spray it with cleaner. He knew where it had come from, seen the wounds, heard the crying, so it wasn't like he could just pretend it was something else, or be detached from it.

Much as he wanted to push it out of his mind, his thoughts kept circling the two big questions; who did this? And the even bigger, why? It was starting to make his head hurt, he kept turning it over and over, but it didn't make sense! Maybe it was just him? Embarrassing to admit, but he was already kind of attached to the big guy, it would be a bit sad to see him go back to his family. So he just couldn't grasp it. Big dogs could be scary he supposed, but this wasn't some case of self-defense! Not to mention this was clearly a good dog in the truest sense; big, beautiful, well behaved (at least so far), how could you bring yourself to hurt him? Let alone how bad this had been?!

It was sick.

With a grunt, Grif hauled himself up and chucked the gross mass of paper into the trash. Sighing, he grabbed his hoody from where it had ended up, tossed over a chair, and trekked down the narrow hall to the barely a room, not quite a closet, and chucked it into his meager washing machine. Fishing his phone out of his pocket, his shirt and pants soon joined the hoody. Blankets from the couch would have to go in tomorrow at some point too. He might make a lot of exceptions for what qualified as 'clean', but as tonight had clearly proven, being covered in blood, even a little, was not one of them.

Taking a couple of steps from the laundry room to his bedroom, Grif fished around on his messy bed until he found his sleep pants and t-shirt, half under a pillow and blanket respectively. Tossing them on, he almost hopped right into bed but paused.

He really should check on the dog one more time. It would nag at him all night if he didn't make sure he wasn't in danger of dying.

...besides, he'd said he would. Shouldn't break a promise...

No, fuck you, he wasn't making excuses!

  
Tossing one of his lighter blankets around his shoulders, Grif padded back to the living-room, peeping around the corner when he arrived. The dog was still there, fluffy, red, bulk still curled up on the little nest of blankets, he could faintly see its body moving, expanding, with each breath it took.

Good! Still alive!

Hopefully in the morning too.

"Okay buddy," Grif called, turning to flick off the lights, "I'm going to bed, I'll see you in the morning. You get lots of rest, got it?" he ordered, glancing back into the now darkened room.

  
His heart caught in his throat and he made a strangled kind of squeaking sound as cold, paralyzing, primal, fear gripped him.

 

There, in the darkness, was a massive shadowy shape, sitting up? Standing up? Staring at him with two giant glinting eyes!

He must have shut his own because next thing Grif knew he was nervously cracking them open from his new position sitting on the floor with his back pressed against the wall, hands up in front of his face. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest and hear his own shaky breaths in the relative silence of the apartment.

Slowly other sounds filtered in, distant cars, the creak of someone walking on the floor above, the hum of the fridge, just behind the wall in the other room. Faint outlines of familiar objects in the dark as his eyes adjusted. Each, in turn, settling him back in reality.

As the sudden burst of fear dissipated, slowly, it was replaced with guilt.

How stupid did he look right now?

Really all the had happened was the dog on his couch- an injured dog, cut up and abused by humans - had looked up when it heard him and its eyes had reflected light from the window or something and he'd gone and freaked himself out.

Stupid monkey brain.

Getting back to his feet, Grif was now torn. He was tired, and oh boy was he feeling that now, he should go to bed. But...

_Yeah sure, you do that, you're the dipshit that brought it in here instead of doing something smarter. Then you went and scared yourself, and now you're just gonna run off to your bed like a little kid. Hope he doesn't die in the middle of the night, bet it'll feel great knowing the last thing this fucked up dog saw was you losing your shit and going to hide in your room._

Grif shifted his weight towards his room, then back, then bit his lip and clenched his eyes shut, sighing as guilt won out. He took one shaky step into the living room, another, more confident, then another, until he was by the couch.

Yup, there was the dog, curled up with his head on his paws. As Grif stood there awkwardly an eye opened and rolled upwards to look at him, seeming to shine just a little.

"Changed my mind." he told his guest, feeling oddly like he had to justify this, "Need to make sure all my hard work wasn't in vain, be a waste. I hope you know what a big sacrifice that was, I don't do work," he said the work with all the disgust it deserved,"for just anyone."

Flinging the ends of his blanket around his body dramatically the husky Hawaiian plopped himself down in the free space on the other end of the couch. The dog shifted to sniff at Grif's knee, which had ended up next to his head, laying back down shortly afterward, seemingly satisfied.

_Well good then, it's my couch._

Leaning his head on the soft, comfy, back of the sofa, Grif watched his companion in the faint shadows, the occasional flick of an ear, the rise and fall of breathing, the quiet sound it made.

Good... That was good.

Maybe everything would be fine? Maybe he'd done the right thing?

Grif tried to hold on to that thought as sleep won out and his eyes fell shut.

 

* * *

 

_Grif ran. He ran as fast as he could. He ran even though he could barely see in the near white wall of the snow storm. Even though the frigid, blistering wind cut right down to his bones and screamed in his ears. Even as his bare feet cried in stinging pain as he plunged them repeatedly into the banks and drifts. They were probably bleeding, but he couldn't stop._

_Over everything, he could hear it, the howling. He thought he caught glimpses of them, of her, dark smatterings and shapes through the white that bit at his eyes. He thought he heard bounding steps just behind him, but they'd vanish as soon as he tried to focus on the sound. He didn't dare look back. He was just being toyed with._

_Tears pricked at his eyes and froze on his cheeks even as he forced himself to keep going. He wanted all of this to just go away. He wanted to go home! Wanted to get somewhere, anywhere! But, it was hopeless, he knew, there was no way he was going to make it, he'd freeze before he got to anywhere safe. But, if he stopped, the second he stopped moving, it would be over._

_She'd get him._

_He'd be torn to pieces and devoured, just like everyone else. No one had believed him. They still wouldn't, even after he was dead. She'd pick off victim after victim until there was no one left..._

_The wind shifted direction, sharp and sudden. Grif stumbled sideways, eyes clenching against the gust, opening just in time for a dark shadow to burst out of the solid white and crack him across the face._

_A tree branch._

_He cried out in pain, hands flying to his face as he stumbled to the side. He felt, with an unsettling, kind of numb distance, the smooth and sharp edges of rocks, giving under his weight, and the blank white world pitched sideways as gravity seized him and flung him down the stony cliff that he couldn't see. Breaking him against the rocks._

 

  
_He lay there in the snow. Dimly, he registered that his body must be wracked with agony, but he couldn't feel it. Couldn't feel the cold either. It felt kind of warm now actually... He must be dying then. Well, no 'must be', he **was** dying. His arms and legs were broken, he was bleeding all over the snow. He couldn't see it, or feel it, but he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that it was true._

_Just a small mercy then, this numbness. Something your body did in the end, made all the pain go away so you didn't have to suffer anymore, so you could go peacefully._

_There was something coming, he could hear it, slow, purposeful, heavy, footsteps, coming toward him through the sheets of falling white._

_It was so big he could actually see the shape of it, hulking, massive, and powerful, somehow, in a grim way, beautiful._

_He'd be able to see it soon, then it would be upon him and there was naught he could do about it..._

_Closer, closer, one step, then another, another, another, then the blizzard parted and there it was._

  
_Grif's eyes widened and he sat up abruptly._

But, how can you-?

_He stared in disbelief at the figure who's stepped out of blinding white, thoughts a dizzying blur._

Thisisn'thowitssupposedtogo - Thisisn'twhathappens – whoisbthat?

  
_It was a man._

  
_He was tall, taller than Grif was, thin but well built, at least he seemed to be, it was hard to tell, most of his body was hidden under what looked like a fur cloak or some kind of coat, the pelt of whatever it was, a deep and rust red, like drying blood. His skin was pale, deathly so, almost the same color as the snow. Face, thin with high and well-defined cheekbones, smattered with a dusting of freckles, his lips, thin, but surprisingly red. His hair was red too, wavy, curly, and wild, it might have been long? Hard to tell with the way it whipped about his head, like dancing flames. The skin under his eyes was darkened with bruises but the eyes themselves (oh god his eyes) were a vivid, lustrous green, and something in them made Grif's heart clench in what could have been fear, or maybe...something else?_

_The man peered down at him, expression perplexed, slightly concerned maybe? Not overly so, but shouldn't he be? With Grif as injured as he was, shouldn't he look more than mildly confused?_

But **are** you hurt?

_Wait, was he?_

_"You're not supposed to be here. Where did you come from?" the man asked, voice a little scratchy, as though he hadn't spoken in a long time, crouching down to get a better look._

_Well, that was stupid, of course, he was supposed to be here. He'd run from- from... From where?_

_Grif felt his brow furrow as he wracked his brain, where had he been coming from? And what had he been doing out here? He'd been running, but from what? He was so sure just a second ago, but now he couldn't recall for the life of him what had been after him, what he'd been so afraid of._

_"Who **are** you?" the man asked when Grif didn't respond to his original question._

_"Grif" he replied without thinking, "Dexter." he corrected, a bit too used to introducing himself last name first._ (Thanks a fucking lot Sarge)

_The redheaded man looked even more confused by his reply, like that wasn't what he'd asked._

_"What's your name?" Grif countered, trying to push off this... Whatever this was, that felt more surreal and less solid by the second, like it was already dissolving in his hands despite his best efforts._

_The man hesitated, "I'm..." he fretted a moment, biting his lip, appearing to be deep in thought, warring with himself. Finally, he looked back up, those unbelievably green eyes staring right into him._

_"My name is Simmons."_

 

  
To be Continued.

 


	2. Cinnamon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grif captured the wiggling head in his hands and stared right down that massive snout into glaring green, "Listen," he said firmly, shushing the next attempted grumble, "this is best for everyone. We just have to live this lie now, okay? *Forever*."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: There's a description of some injuries that might be graphic? I've put a * at the end of it so if it grosses you out when you reach it just use ctrl+F to skip! 
> 
> Big thanks to Prim for giving this chapter a once over for me! You're the best! <3

 

  
          Grif opened his eyes groggily against soft sunlight, unsure of what had woken him. Whatever it was he was going to kick its ass... He didn't want to be up right now, he was so comfortable, nice and toasty warm, a pleasant weight draped on top of him.

Blearily he lifted his head, only to come face to face with a shock of rusty red fur. There was an irritated huff near his head and Grif plopped back down so he could turn to look.

_Oh._

Right next to his head, partially snuggled up by his neck was the end of a big snout, attached to a muzzle, attached to a head, that belonged to a _massive_ dog.

Huh... Since when did...?

Oh shit right! Last night, he'd forgotten!

The big guy had made it, looked like, and at some point, the dog had moved or maybe Grif had moved, and now they were both spread out lengthwise across the couch with dogger just kind of draped over him like some giant fluffy blanket.

Poor fella... Grif reached up with his free arm and ran his fingers through the dense fur around the dog's head, stopping to scratch behind one big pointy ear. The big animal made a happy rumbling sound and turned more to press against his hand.

"Feels nice?" Grif asked through a yawn, "Sleep good, buddy?"

The dog sighed through its nose and snuggled against his neck and shoulder. Guess that was a yes?

Grif started to hunker down to go back to sleep when he felt something weird... Something was moving- no, vibrating!

What in the fuck was-? oh **shit**.

Eyes wide open Grif felt around frantically and with a great deal of panic, managed to pull his buzzing phone out of his pajama pocket, where he'd forgotten he'd put it. A brief glance at the caller ID confirmed what he'd already known, and with a despairing groan he hit 'answer', "Morning, Sarge..."

_"Well look at that! Looks like the dirtbag has finally decided to pick up!"_ bellowed the gruff voice on the other end of the line, _"And don't give me none of yer 'morning' nonsense! It hasn't been morning for at least five minutes!"_

Double shit.

"Oh crap!" Grif scrambled to fix the situation, "I didn't-"

_"You didn't set yer alarm? I've heard that one before! And let me guess! You have a good reason."_

"I do!" the Hawaiian protested, "Its a super good reason! Humanitarian even!"

Sarge actually had the nerve to laugh, _"Oh that will be the day! And just what did you do, that is so great a feat that I shouldn't fire your good fer nothin' hide right now?!"_

Grif huffed indignantly, "I'll have you know, I was up all night saving an injured dog!"

_"You're slipping Grif, not only is a dog, not a human, you don't have a dog!"_

"I totally do, he's right here!"

_"Prove it!"_

"Fine!" Grif held the phone up to his now slowly waking companion, "Speak!"

Green eyes narrowed at him for a moment before the large head swung towards the device, sniffing at it. A faint, _"You'll have to do better than breathing into yer phone for me to buy that load of horse manure!"_ buzzed out of the speaker in response. Much to Grif's surprise the dog looked at him again, like it was deciding something? Or maybe he was looking for permission because next thing Grif knew the ears had gone back and the fur nearly blocking his vision fluffed up and a rumbling guttural snarl rolled out of his companion, Grif could feel the vibration throughout his whole body, like bass that was up too high. It lasted only the briefest of moments however before it ripped its way into a thundering _roaring_ bark!

"Bujesus!" Grif shouted, "Wow you're loud!"

The dog bopped its nose against the side of Grif's head, then plopped back down, he could just see the end of its fluffy feather tail wag once or twice before disappearing.

More awake than he had been, Grif put the phone back to his ear, "See Sarge? Told you there was a dog."

_"Sam hell!"_ the older man's voice seemed shaken, well if that didn't make Grif feel smug, _"The whole office probably heard that! Sounded more like a bear than a dog!"_

"He is a big boy." Grif agreed, "But nah he's a dog."

Sarge grumbled on the other end, _"That still doesn't get you off the hook! Dog or no dog you were supposed to be here over two hours ago!"_

"He was hurt!" Grif protested, wondering how silly he must look, arguing with his boss while stuck under a sleeping dog, "Some assholes messed him up, I couldn't just leave him laying there!"

Sarge seemed taken aback by Grif's uncharacteristic outburst, silence floating over the line for a couple tense seconds as the younger man tried not to wonder if he was about to lose his job.

_"What's his name?"_ Sarge's voice was oddly soft.

"Huh?" Grif stumbled, he hadn't expected that.

_"His name stupid!"_ that was more like it, _"If you got a dog you gotta give him a name!"_

"Oh!" Grif blanked, "Well of course! It's uh, uh... Ssssssssssssssssiiiinnamon?"

_" **Cinnamon**?"_ came the flat response.

"Yes?"

There was some distant tittering off in the background and Sarge sighed, _"Fine. But you're on thin ice! We'll make it a half day, call it a family emergency. I expect to see you here in one hour!"_

"Two," Grif replied without thinking before Sarge (or his brain) could kill him he quickly added, "To give him a bath! And change his bandages!"

Sarge made an almost inhuman sound, like some weird combination of unbridled rage at being challenged and confusion over Grif's bizarre seemingly selfless motives. _"If yer even one second later than that!"_ the former Texan growled.

"Not even one, sir." Grif drawled, relaxing now that the threat had been placated, hanging up and cutting off Sarge's responding bellow.

 

          "Well fuck, that was close..." he sighed, closing his eyes for a second, before turning to look at the dog, "Okay, you need to let me up now."

If a dog could look scandalized, if it could look like it had been betrayed in the worst possible way, insulted all the way back through its ancestors, that was the expression on this dog.

"What?" Grif asked, trying to sit up a bit not quite managing it, "I thought you'd want a bath?"

The dog actually made a sound like it was choking on the air and a series of whining moans. _Oh whoa is me! It's all just so terrible!_

"Cinnamon?"

The dog wailed.

"It was an accident okay!" why was he defending himself to a dog? "He put me on the spot!"

More overly dramatic blubbering.

Grif captured the wiggling head in his hands and stared right down that massive snout into glaring green, "Listen," he said firmly, shushing the next attempted grumble, "this is best for everyone. We just have to live this lie now, okay? _**Forever**_."

He lasted only a second or two before he burst out laughing, "Oh my god, I can't fucking believe I'm- now get up you big baby. I need coffee, you need a bath, then I have to figure out exactly when I lost my mind."

'Cinnamon' huffed, but seemed to understand, stretching out all four legs arching back in a big long stretch and yawning, showing off all those sharp teeth.

Jebus.

In the end, Cinnamon did roll off the couch, rather gracefully, and padded about the room checking things out while Grif hauled himself up, doing his own stretch and yawn.

The Hawaiian laughed as the dog rounded the couch corner and suddenly jumped back a foot or so in alarm, "Relax dude, its just pizza boxes." he chided, patting the impressive tower as he went by, "See? Just cardboard."

Cinnamon looked less than impressed but followed after him anyway, pausing every once and a while to peer or sniff at some discarded pile of something or a spot on the floor. Grif tried not to laugh, it was kinda of cute though, seeing how curious he was, and maybe a little snooty too? Cinnamon didn't seem overly fond of his, admittedly, messy apartment. Well, maybe more than messy. But too bad! This was his home, his mess. Deal with it!

He wasn't going to be judged by something that liked sniffing butts and probably ate its own shit.

So there.

  
          Pausing in the kitchen only long enough to get the coffee started, Grif led the way to the bathroom, kind of pleased with the way Cinnamon followed dutifully behind. Guess he had a gift for dogs! Take that mom! Haha!

The bathroom was cramped, just enough space for the tub, counter, and toilet right by the door; but it would be fine as long as there were no complications.

Grif backed up and gestured to the doorway, "Okay boy, you first." the dog stared at him for a second and then cautiously stuck its head in the bathroom, sniffing and inspecting as he slowly moved inside. The heavy man grinned, "See? Not so bad." trying to scoot his way in without crushing the two of them, he pointed at the tub, "Bathtub. You know that word? Baaaath?" Cinnamon looked unsure, "I'm not a huge fan of baths either, but even I know you gotta get in there."

His fluffy companion stuck his head in the tub to sniff it.

"Yeah see? Tub. Good boy." Grif tried praising, "Gonna get in now? Hop in? Hop up? Hup-up?" he was super sure this dog was really well trained, or at least really smart, but he had no idea what commands he'd respond to.

He snapped his fingers and pointed to the tub. Green eyes narrowed at him. Oh, okay, no snapping then...

"Get in... _Please_?"

Huffing softly to himself, Cinnamon gave a little dancey wiggle of his back end and hopped easily over the lip and into the tub.

"Good boy!" Grif cheered, quickly taking a spot by the shower, "first gotta get those bandages off, I think I've got enough of that nightmare shirt to make more." he gave the wounds a cursory examination, "They look better! ...I think. They stopped bleeding anyway." shrugging, he tossed the dirty, makeshift, bandages in the sad little trashcan wedged between the sink and toilet. "I'm turning the water on," he told the dog, reaching for the knob "gonna be cold for a sec but it'll get it warm soon."

Thankfully all Cinnamon did was move forward so the stream was on his back and not his face or neck. Good! Maybe this wasn't going to be a rushed nightmare of screaming and sadness?

"Okay, so..." Grif plucked up his shampoo bottle from the shower's little shelf thingy and moved it around in his hands, "I don't have fancy pet shampoo... But this," he gave the dog a very stern look, "and don't you go telling anyone. But, regular shit makes me itch, man. Like it burns. It sucks balls! So this is like that foo-foo 'gentle and soft as a baby angel's ass' kind of stuff. So worst case, you're gonna smell like oatmeal."

The dog didn't respond, because of course it didn't, and Grif dumped a glob of the stuff in his hand. After testing to make sure the water was now warm but not scalding, he awkwardly shuffled the dog forward a bit out of the main part of the stream, and just sort of plopped his gooey palm down on the wet fur.

  
           Okay, so if it wasn't painfully obvious by now, Grif had never washed a dog before. It shouldn't be too hard right? It was just... Weird. Like only the top part of the fur was wet, and it was stiffer than the super soft fluff underneath, and little stray hairs kept sticking to his hands. Not to mention that reaching the places he needed to like on the sides or belly was tricky and he got sprayed by the shower more than once.

Hmm... He was going to need to put more soap on this guy...

Grif was careful around the cuts, trying to scrub the blood out of the fur without reopening the injuries by accident. It seemed to be working? The soap bubbles were turning rusty pink (gross) and trails and wisps of red rippled along in the water, vanishing down the drain. (Also gross)

It wasn't all terrible though, cleaning Cinnamon's flank was actually kind of funny. Grif had a good lather worked up and had maneuvered the hound so he could scrub his thighs and up near the base of his tail. Cinnamon hopped in surprise when he'd just sort of sunk his fingers in the thick fur and started scrubbing, making an almost offended sound, like... Like if he'd been some prim and prissy Victorian lady and Grif just pinched his ass. The offense seemed to be forgotten rather quickly though because not long after he gave an odd little hop and started shimmying his rump in time with Grif's scrubbing.

Grif grinned like a bastard, "Oh _no_!'" he crowed, "Did I find it? Is this the spot? Is this the good spot?" he moved his hands up higher and scratched enthusiastically at the place where Cinnamon's tail connected to his back.

The dog shimmied back and forth, tossing his head back and making happy grumbling dog sounds, one of his back legs trembled and periodically tapped at the ceramic tub bottom.

"It **is**!" Grif cheered, keeping up the scritches, cooing out a litany of, "Yes it is! Feels good! Oh yes, it does! Who's a good boy!? **It's you!** " in a growly, sugary, voice.

Thankfully no one was around to hear.

The Hawaiian squawked when the dog's tail started going like mad and whapped him in the head, bursting into laughter when it kept happening, again and again, sluicing water all over him.

Oh well, guess this was his shower now too.

"Okay!" he laughed, kind of wrapping around the hopping bottom to make him stop, "Okay! No more! I gotta get your head now!"

The dog abruptly stilled, allowing Grif to turn him around and get him facing the other way. He choked on another bout of laughter when he saw the dog's face. He looked, dismayed? No, mortified! Like he'd been seen doing something embarrassing.

Oh, my god, this dog was so weird.

Grif couldn't stop laughing. All the while Cinnamon just stood there, totally still, staring straight ahead, unblinking, at the shower wall.

 

  
Somewhere, Ave Maria played.

 

  
          "Such a big baby." Grif chided, fishing around for something to wash Cinnamon's muzzle. This hand towel looked clean enough. Getting part of it wet he moved it in careful circles against the shorter fur, pleased when the more stubborn stains, that hadn't rinsed off on their own, started to come free. His fussy companion sighed contentedly, eyes closing, leaning his head more into the soothing scrubbing.

Grif hummed, "Yeah, I bet that feels better huh? Get all that gross crap off your face?"

Cinnamon rumbled back at him.

Grif rubbed his head, putting the towel down. Now, the part he didn't want to do but knew he really had to, "Gonna let me look at your neck?"

Cinnamon licked his lips nervously, ears drooping down a little, but he didn't resist or fuss when Grif eased his head up and carefully moved the thick fur out of the way.

The human couldn't help the quiet hiss he made when he saw the wound.

The torn and mangled skin was an angry pinkish red, he could see the raises and indents where the wire had been, a couple pale patches where the skin had been dug into and pushed away from its blood supply, some parts sliced and shredded where the barbs had moved and torn. The area was shiny and felt sticky and tacky when Grif dared to touch the very edges, the wounds seeping clear fluid and a little bit of blood.  
*

It looked painful...

"God... I'm so sorry buddy." Grif breathed, trying to keep himself under control. It was hard. He and injuries did not mix. Like movies and games were fine because he knew those weren't real, but actual awful stuff like this? Yeah, _no_. "I'm not gonna touch it, okay?" he told Cinnamon, mostly for his own benefit, "Just gonna rinse it. Just a little bit of water."

Worried that the shower's stream would be too rough, Grif cupped his hands, collecting a bit and letting it wash over the gashes instead. It seemed to be the right choice, Cinnamon took a sharp breath with a squeak in it at the initial contact but other than licking his lips again he didn't so much as move. "Good boy." Grif told him again, he was saying that a lot, but he felt like it was helping, like Cinnamon understood that at least, and liked it, "Almost done. Get you dried off after this, bandaged up, and back up on the couch okay? I'll go to the store after work and get real bandages and see if I can put medicine on it."

When he was satisfied that he'd rinsed the best he could, Grif hauled himself up and turned the shower off.

Okay... Grif looked around. He needed a towel... There were a couple hanging on the bar bolted to the wall. But, were they any good? Dry, yeah, and clean? Kind of? You could use a towel a few times without washing it, you were clean when you got out, and you were only using it to dry off... So.

But, was that clean enough if you had open wounds?

Grif picked the one that seemed cleanest, pulling it from the rack.

Yeah, it would have to do. Would be worse to try to wash and dry them first, just leave Cinnamon standing there sopping wet. Yeah, that could only end well.

Grif turned around in the little room, towel in hand, just in time to see Cinnamon stiffen and his hackles raise up.

" _No no no no no!_ " Grif yelled, nearly slipping in his haste to grab the shower curtain and pull it closed, before the hound gave a mighty shake, traveling from head to tail, sending water flying and splattering with what Grif thought to be the force of a tsunami against the plastic curtain.

Oh, thank god he'd closed it in time.

The dog was looking a little sheepish when he pulled the curtain back.

"It's okay." Grif sighed, crouching down to ruffle the beast dry, "It's not like you can help it. 'S like a sneeze, huh boy?"

The damp tail gave a little wag.

  
By the time Cinnamon was as dry as Grif was going to get him it was about time to go. Forgoing a shower of his own, the Hawaiian threw on some, passable, clothes, grabbed his back up hoody, gave his hair a quick brush and pulled it back.

He wrapped Cinnamon's neck back up in a newly made makeshift bandage, reminding himself again to buy some real ones on the way home. Coaxing the dog back up on the couch was surprisingly easy, big fella seemed eager to rest more, that was good right? Grif figured it was and tossed the blankets from the night before over the animal's bulk, getting what sounded like an almost grateful sigh in return.

In the kitchen, while he prepped his coffee in its travel mug, lots of cream and sugar and a hot chocolate packet, (yum!) he did a couple quick searches on his phone.

Can dogs have pasta sauce? No.

No onions or garlic either... Fresh tomatoes weren't so bad but were still very much not recommended.

Okay so...

Can dogs have potatoes? Yes.

As long as they were cooked.

Oh good, bread was okay too! Because while he admittedly didn't have a whole lot of non-instant stuff in his fridge he'd still feel bad if he left the poor thing hungry...

So he made a sacrifice of his leftover cheesy mashed potatoes, the last bit of his bread, and the packet of sliced sandwich turkey. in addition, he made sure to fill up a big kitchen bowl with water so Cinnamon would have something to drink. He plopped them both next to the couch, making sure the dog could see and smell it.

"Okay big guy." Grif gave him a good scritch behind the ear, "I have to go to work, like it or not and trust me I don't, but I'll get you some real dog food on the way home, okay?"

He got a sniff and lick to his hand in response so he took that as a good thing.

Flipping on the TV to the news, he'd heard somewhere dogs liked feeling like people were here, he gave Cinnamon a final pat and rushed out the door with a call of, "Be good! Don't eat my couch!"

 

* * *

 

          Grif's journey to work was not quite as bad as normal, mostly because you couldn't hit the morning rush if it wasn't morning. So, the journey the two blocks to the train only involved some frantic running, and he actually got an express instead of a local route! Well hot damn, maybe his luck was turning around?

Pft! Probably not.

Either way, he got to sip his coffee on the way and got a seat for once, so that was a plus.

He made it to work a whole half hour before Sarge's 'deadline' too! Though he didn't expect to be praised for that, which was good, because he wasn't. He did get a pointed glare instead of a lecture when he passed the old man's office though, another plus!

Of course, things couldn't be perfect, the universe had to punish him somehow. Said punishment came, as it often did, in the form of Donut.

  
The young man, only a scant couple of years over twenty, came barreling out from his cubical and with an overly dramatic wail and, messy bleach blonde hair fluttering like an upset bird, flung his arms around Grif's neck. The heavyset man staggered but did not fall over.

"Oh my gosh Grif you're _okaaaaay_!" the brat 'sobbed' dramatically, "You were so late and then Sarge called you and there was that sound on the phone and he said you got eaten by a dog!" he barreled on ahead and Grif reeled trying to survive the babble.

Donut paused for a moment, switching off the dramatics with an abruptness that gave Grif whiplash, "Wait, Cinnamon is a dog and not a stripper right?"

Grif just blinked and nodded dumbly.

"Eaten by a _doooooog_!" The blonde wailed, crocodile tears back in full swing.

"Oh my god," Grif growled, "I didn't get eaten by a dog!"

"Thank goodness!" the younger man tittered.   
Suddenly he made a face and with the same unholy speed, shoved his face against Grif's neck and sniffed.

"Dude!" Grif shouted, grabbing the other guy's shoulders and forcing him an arm's length away, "What the hell?!"

Donut regarded him with a scrunched up nose, "You smell gross!" as though Grif had done such a thing on purpose, "Like a wet dog!"

The Hawaiian balked, "Yeah I had to give Cinnamon a bath and got splashed. Not that big a deal dude."

Donut scoffed, opening his mouth to retort, but a sharp whistle cut him off, "That doesn't sound like work to me!" Sarge's voice sounded from inside his office.

"Sorry, Saaaaaaarge!" Donut chipperly singsonged, turning primly to flounce back to his desk, "I have some really nice perfumes and body sprays at my desk if you decide you wanna stop smelling like a _straaaaay_!"

"No thanks." Grif groused, tossing his bag into the corner of his cube and plopping into his chair with heavy annoyance.

"If you think about it, wet dog might be the manliest smell." Tucker's snickering voice floated over the barrier behind him, "Maybe Grif's trying to land himself a bi-"

"Ha ha." Grif cut the darker man off flatly, "You're hilarious..."

 

* * *

 

          "I'm just saying dude, chicks love dogs!"

Grif rolled his eyes, taking another bite of his second sandwich, "I wasn't thinking about my sex life when I rescued him." he grumbled between chews, "Besides, it's not my dog."

"Yeah, but what if its owner is like some smoking hot lady? Bet she wouldn't mind being asked out!" Tucker countered, from his place leaning over the divider, thin, short braids bouncing as he gestured dramatically, jostling the bag of chips in his hand, "Or like a hot dude! Studs like dogs!"

"I thought the adage was that women preferred big dogs and men preferred smaller dogs?" Donut chimed in, popping up over the other divider.

"I guess?" Tucker mused, "Exceptions are like hunting and purse dogs?"

"Exactly! Well, at least sometimes?"

"Do you even like dogs Donut?" Grif challenged.

"Of course!" the blonde tittered, "I love all kinds of dogs! Just not ones that smell."

"All dogs smell!" Grif snapped, feeling oddly defensive, "Especially when you give them a bath, it's just what they do!"

"What kind of dog is, its Cinnamon right?" Tucker interrupted, in the name of peace, "Is he like a pom or...?"

Grif hummed, "I'm not sure? Probably like a mutt but no, he's not a Pomeranian, he's big."

"How big, like Saint Bernard big? Wolfhound big?" Donut asked.

"No. Maybe? I don't know what that other one is. But... Like if we were both sitting on the floor? We'd be about the same height?" Grif moved his hand to about his armrest, "Like about here if he's standing up, I think?"

Tucker gave a low whistle, "Big puppy! Not wolfhound big though, those guys are like bears!"

"What's he look like?" Donut pressed.

"He's like... Red? Kind of rusty? Green eyes?"

"Ooooh, pretty!" the blonde cooed, "Rare colors in big dogs!"

"I guess? I think he was in a fire or something, he's got scars all over one side. Pretty bad."

Donut made a mournful sound and Tucker hissed in sympathy, "Jesus. Are those the injuries? How did you even treat that?"

Grif shook his head, pausing his eating as his stomach clenched in unease, "No, no. These were bad, but not that bad. Just cuts. Some asshole wrapped him up in barbed wire."

Tucker grimaced and said, well, something, but whatever it was was overshadowed by Donut's shrill cry of alarm, loud enough to make Lopez jump and (presumably) curse in Spanish and for Caboose to pop his head up from his booth on the other side of the room with a confused yet cheerful, "Hello!"

"Did you see who did it?!" Donut pressed urgently, fluorescent pink nails digging into the material of the divider.

Grif frowned, "No, wish I did, would have called the cops."

Tucker looked skeptical, "Man I don't know... If they were willing to beat up a big dog like that they might have gone after you too."

"I guess..."

"That poor puppy!" Donut wibbled, "He must have been so scared!" he looked at Grif with genuine worry, "Things like that can be really traumatizing! Are you sure he's safe? He didn't scratch or bite you did he?"

Grif waved his hands (and sandwich) placatingly, "No! He growled and snapped at me when I first found him, but he was cool when he realized I was there to help. Didn't scratch, didn't bite! Not once!"

"That's surprising." Tucker interjected, "We'll... No, I guess maybe not. Dogs are smart and shit, right? They can, like, tell."

Donut giggled.

"Well, I think he might have been like someone's service dog. He's really smart. Kind of talkative too, he makes a lot of noise." Grif added.

Tucker hopped up a bit in realization, "Oh shit dude! You know what? That sounds like a Husky!"

"It does?" Grif asked.

"Well maybe bread with something else, but they're big and really smart, they're kind of like big drama queens too." the darker man grinned, "Like Donut."

"Hey!"

"What's with all this yelling!" Sarge yelled, suddenly making an appearance.

"Some hoodlums tied Grif's smelly dog up in barbed wire!'

"What!?" the Texan bellowed, "You see who did it, soldier?"

Grif rolled his eyes, "No Sir, I didn't. Probably some shit kids."

"Hello. Yes. I am also here now!" Caboose announced, finally drawn over by the noise, "What are we talking about?"

"Grif's stinky dog." Tucker quipped playfully.

"Grif is stinky?"

"Yeah!"

Before the heavy man could protest Caboose leaned down and kind of planted his face in Grif's hoody, taking a dramatic sniff as Tucker and Donut bust into full-on cackling.

"Stop it!" Grif flailed.

"You smell like friends!" Caboose cheered.

"Grif got a dog!" Donut chortled.

"Dog friend! Can I pet him Grif? Please please please please _pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease_!?" the giant child pleaded.

"I- what? I don't know! It's not my dog! ...I guess maybe when he's better?" the Hawaiian floundered, "And I do not stink!"

"Nonsense!" Sarge barked a laugh.

"Yeah, I don't know dude." Tucker teased, making a show of wafting air towards him and sniffing, "Yeah, you totally smell like a dog!"

"Oh my god! Stop fucking sniffing me!"

 

* * *

 

          Work came and went and inevitability Grif found himself standing in the little mart near his house, staring at a row of dog food with the intensity of one who doesn't really know what they're doing and has a very slim budget. Maybe dry food would be better? It was less expensive... But... Didn't cheap mean not as good when it came to pet stuff?

Ugh!

The internet wasn't any help, conflicting opinions, suggestions based on weight and breed and other shit that he DIDN'T FUCKING **KNOW**!

With a pathetic whine of resignation, he called Tucker.

_"Hey, dude, what's up?"_

"You know shit about dogs right?"

Tucker paused, _"Well I'm not an expert, but yeah we had a couple when I was a kid."_

"What do I need to get?" Grif groaned, "There isn't even that much and I've still been standing here for like thirty minutes! The cashier is probably starting to think I'm gonna rob the store..."

Tucker laughed, _"Well I mean... Dogs aren't really picky they'll eat almost anything you give them. I guess most prefer wet to dry. (bow chicka wow wow.)"_

Grif rolled his eyes, "So it doesn't matter?"

_"Not really."_

"Gee _thanks_..."

_"Only thing I can really even think of... I dun-know like cheaper it is the less good it is for them in the long run I guess?"_

"Have you seen what Sarge pays us?"

Tucker chuckled, _"Point taken. How about like, just get the second cheapest?" he hummed, "You're sure giving this way more effort than normal, everything cool dude?"_

"Yeah," Grif replied dismissively, " it's just, he's someone's dog, if I fuck him up they might, I don't know, think I hurt him and I'll get in trouble? And like, I don't wanna kill a dog, even by accident, you know?" That was the gist of it... He couldn't take the poor guy to the vet, so if he didn't feed him right and he didn't get better... It made guilt gnaw at Grif's belly. He didn't like guilt.

_"Nah, it makes sense."_ Tucker replied, _"I just think you're over thinking it. You really only need to worry if he won't eat or if he throws up or something."_

Grif sighed, "Yeah, guess so..." he looked at the collection of cans, finally reaching for a yellow and red can with a picture of a big happy dog on it. Not the cheapest, not the most expensive. He tossed in enough to finish the week. "Okay, got food, I grabbed bandages and like... disinfecting goo? I guess there's not really a point in getting dog bowls..." Grif pondered.

_"Yeah that's about-"_ Tucker began, then abruptly cut himself off, _"Uh... Grif?"_

"Yeah?"

_"You uh... Didn't already have a leash, for some odd reason, already...did you?"_

Grif furrowed his brow in confusion, "No...?"

_"...How did you walk him?"_

A feeling of cold dread started to creep up the large man's spine, "I... Didn't?" he squeaked.

There was a moment of total silence before Tucker breathed, _"Oh dude..."_

Grif felt a frigid sweat break out on his forehead, the color leaving his face.

The man on the other end of the phone burst into laughter, _"Oh god! Oh no, Grif! Your apartment is going to be **covered** in shit!"_

"God damn it!" Grif wailed, an older woman with her kid glared at him as they went past, "Shit! I gotta go I-"

_"Wait wait!"_ Tucker shouted, _"Leash! Get a leash!"_

Grif spun in a circle at least twice before he saw the single hanging display. Not a whole lot to pick from... Fuck it, not like he had a choice!

He grabbed a leash but paused at the collar, Cinnamon's neck was still messed up... Wouldn't this just rip it right open? Um... Um um um! Wait!

"Is a harness okay?" Grif asked in a rush, already reaching for the one marked 'large'.

_"Why- Oh! His neck! Yeah, a harness is good!"_

"Okay, I gotta go, thanks!"

_"No prob dude! Go save your apartment!"_ Tucker called before Grif hung up.

Detouring long enough to chuck two rolls of paper towels in his basket, the Hawaiian all but sprinted up to join the line for check out.

Heaving a sigh of resignation Grif's gaze slid to the impulse rack that flanked the line. Fuck it... He nabbed a few candy bars and tossed them in his basket. Something else caught his eye... Huh... Why the hell not? He grabbed one at the last moment and slapped it on the counter with the rest of his items, startling the cashier.

  
Yeah, he'd probably think he was crazy too...

 

* * *

 

Grif panted for breath as he finally reached his apartment, fumbling with the keys when he fished them out of his pocket. He'd sprinted the whole way back from the store, had probably looked like a nutcase, but the necessity had overridden both the embarrassment and the pain in his sides.

With a pang of trepidation in his heart, he cautiously pushed the door open.

_Please don't be pee please don't be pee please don't be pee!_

He was immediately hit with the smell of-

....Nothing?

His eyes went immediately to the couch and to Cinnamon, who was just finishing sitting up and looking at him with perked ears and a tilted head.

Everything looked... Normal?

"Oh thank god..." Grif sighed, shoulders drooping as the tension left them.

Shutting the door behind him the Hawaiian made his way over to his guest, plopping down next to him, and setting the bag on the floor.

Rustling around he pulled out the red leash and harness he'd bought, "Much as I want to just crash here with you and watch... A Star Trek marathon?" that wasn't the channel he'd left on, "Did you... Change the channel?"

Cinnamon gave him a flat look.

"Yeah, I don't like the news either." Grif agreed, dogs mimicked people, guy probably whacked the remote until something distracting or familiar came on, case in point, he spotted the remote on the floor under the table, "But yeah, I bet you're ready to pop, huh?" he held up the leash, "Wanna go for a walk?"

The dog stared at him.

"Walkies?"

Still staring.

"Don't you have to like pee?"

Nothing.

"Pee pee?

...

"Go potty?"

Cinnamon huffed at him.

"Go to the bathroom?"

With a mouthy grumble the rusty dog raised himself up and with a nimble little hop, got off the couch and padded away into the hall.

With a confused blink, Grif got up to follow, "Hey where are you going?"

He hurried to catch up when he saw the big fluffy butt disappear into the bathroom and heard the door shut. Brows furrowing, he leaned in to hold his ear to the door, hearing the sound of water on water.

...No fucking way...

A moment later the clicking of nails on tile and a much louder flush.

_No. Fucking. Way._

There was a scratching sort of nose and a metallic rattle before the door popped open and a big nose nudged it out of the way.

Grif stood there, wide-eyed, staring at Cinnamon.

  
The big tail drooped a little and the dog licked his lips nervously.

  
"Oh my god!" Grif crowed, dropping to his knees and throwing his arms around the now startled dog's upper body, "You're a miracle dog! You're perfect!"

The big tail slowly but more energetically started swishing. When Grif dug fingers into the thick coat and gave it a good tussle, gushing praise, the big floofy bulk started to shimmy about happily, dancing about from foot to foot.

Grif stilled a moment from his praises, "You really are a service dog aren't you?" he asked, pulling away to look at the now still and returning to confused, animal, "Fuck... Somewhere there's like, some old person, or blind little girl, or some vet with no legs who really needs you, isn't there...?" his heart sank, "I gotta figure out how to find your home for you... Gotta get you better too."

A cold nose poked his head, Cinnamon probably trying to figure out why this big lumpy human was suddenly so down.

"Sorry." Grif said, scratching at the fluff around the big ass ears, "How about we get you cleaned up and put some real bandages on, huh? I got you a present too!"

  
          Cinnamon's bandages went on a lot easier this time. The wounds didn't really look any different than this morning, aside from being less of an angry red maybe? But Grif patted them with a damp paper towel and put a bunch of disinfectant goo on it, wrapped it in gauze and 'ta-da!' all done.

"Okay, so I said present." Grif told the dog, rummaging in the bag, he heard Cinnamon sniffing near his ear, trying to look over his shoulder, "Now it might be a bit hipster but you're kind of prissy so I get the feeling that's your jam."

With, maybe a little bit of a dramatic flare, Grif unfurled his spur of the moment 'gift', a scarf! Not like fluffy winter scarves, but like the big, overly large bandanna, kind of thing, with the fringe? The aforementioned hipster ones. This one was a dark kind of red, maybe just a _liiiittle_ bit of purple in it? Maroon, right? Probably? (His color theory professor would skin him for not remembering) with a simple black plaid pattern on it.

"Thought maybe you'd want something to cover up the bandages?" Grif teased, "Keep you from scratching..." he added under his breath.

Cinnamon made a mumbled sound almost like offense but didn't make any fuss when Grif carefully wrapped it around his neck and tied it in place. When it was secure the hound tilted his head from side to side, trying to twist it to get a look at the fabric, after a few tries he looked back up at Grif, tongue lolling out in a quiet pant as the flufftail gave a little swish-swish.

"Nice." Grif grinned, "Well..." he hummed, "I thought I was gonna have to- well, clean up, so I kind of rushed, didn't get anything for dinner..." he stretched lazily, "Wanna go with? I'll order some pizza or Chinese or something. Give you a chance to walk around?" he gave the dog a look, "I don't **do** exercise so you better be grateful I'm even offering."

Cinnamon tilted his head, giving another slight wag.

Grif grinned, "That's what I thought!" he gave the harness and leash a rattle, "Okay now, hold still so I can get this on you."

 

* * *

 

          The only tricky part had been getting the harness facing the right way, Cinnamon had stood patiently (probably more patent than Grif to be honest) while the straps were adjusted, and in only a few minutes they were out the door and down the sidewalk.

Grif hadn't really decided what he wanted... Other than 'takeout' and ' **lots** ', but everything in walking distance was kind of on the same street so he'd just let his nose guide him.

Cinnamon walked almost dutifully beside him, every once and a while he'd veer off, usually at a crosswalk, to sniff at something, a light pole or sign post, he seemed to contemplate them but didn't mark, which Grif found to be a bit weird, but maybe there was a reason? See, whenever someone walked by or near them, Cinnamon would pointedly put Grif between himself and that person. Not so much like a 'protect me' kind of thing, more like the dog didn't want to be seen? He just gave off that impression. Maybe that meant he was scared of people? Had he always been or was it because of how he got hurt?

Was that bad?

  
          When they reached the block that sported mostly restaurants, some sit down some takeout, nothing overly fancy, (this part of the city wasn't wealthy enough for that, but it was still nice) Grif pondered his options. Eventually, the smell of bread and cheese enticed him enough that he made a beeline for his favorite pizza place.

Guess he was adding to his cardboard castle tonight!

Inside he was greeted by a perky, if a little slurred, “Hello!” from behind the counter.

“Hey, Jensen! Still working here?”

The young woman, Katie Jensen, gave him a braces-filled smile, true to form she had a streak of flour dusting her hair, across her nose, and lightly ghosting part of her glasses, a smudge of sauce on her cheek, probably wiped there by accident, “Yes, sir~!” she said gleefully, “College is **brutal** , so ya gotta work! It's not the most glamorous job, but Miss. Kimball pays pretty good, the hours aren't bad and we get to take home leftover food at closing time! Oh! I got promoted too! So I'm evening manager now!”

“That's great, good job!” Good, Jensen was a good kid, bit clumsy, but well-meaning. School was hard, college still cost way too fucking much, so something like this would be a big help.

Katie perked up and peered down over the rims of her glasses, “Mr. Grif? Is that a dog!?”

A chorus of high-pitched voices repeating, “Dog?” floated up from the back, and Grif saw several girls peek out from the small kitchen area at them.

“Uh, yeah,” Grif answered, suddenly feeling self-conscious, as the young ladies flocked out to see.

One of them, bleach blonde hair pulled back in a high and perky pony-tail, apron over what looked to be a volleyball jersey, actually hopped the counter, already cooing and fussing over Cinnamon, though she didn't touch him yet. The others girls, not far behind, taking the sensible route around.

“Umm!” Katie tried to gather everyone back to order, “We kind of can't have dogs in here Mr. Grif!” she looked torn though, “You're gonna have to take him outside... I mean... A-after you order?”

Aww, poor kid.

“You wanna pet him?” Grif asked ruefully.

“Can we?!” she asked cautiously as the other girls all cheered.

Grif looked at Cinnamon, who looked torn between a dog's love of affection and wanting to ascend to a different plane of existence.

“One at a time.” Grif decided, “Don't freak him out, he got beat up pretty good by some assholes, not too long ago.”

The girls made sounds of sympathy in eerily perfect unison.

Letting their manager have first dibs, the girls ushered Katie over first. The young woman wiped her hands off on her apron (whatever good it did) and offered her hand cautiously to the dog. "What's his name?" she asked as the animal sniffed her hand.

"Cinnamon."

A small chorus of 'Aww's sounded at the name.

Despite looking a bit uneasy at all this attention, Cinnamon bopped Katie's hand with his nose, seeming to be satisfied with his assessment of her, allowing the young woman to pet him. Katie smiled, "He's a really beautiful dog." she told Grif, the other girls agreeing, "I can't imagine why someone would want to hurt him. He seems really sweet."

"Yeah!" Volleyball shirt girl chimed, "Animal abuse is so low! You find out who did this and we'll bust 'em up and drag them to the cops! Right girls!"

Well then. Seemed in under five minutes Cinnamon had acquired a bit of a fan club. Guess girls did really like dogs?

After Jensen, each of the girls took a turn fussing over the dog, some a bit more energetic than others but they at least seemed to be trying to go easy on him. Cinnamon still looked a little uneasy about the whole thing, but, to Grif at least, he appeared more relaxed than before.

"Okay!" Katie called out, clapping her hands to get everyone's attention, "We've still got lots to do! Everyone go wash your hands! No exceptions!"

The girls let out a bunch of playful and sarcastic groans but slowly filed away to the back once more.

"Do you want your usual Mr. Grif?"

"You betcha!"

Katie laughed, "Okay! We'll come let you know when it's ready. I'm afraid I really do have to ask you to take Cinnamon outside though."

"Nah, it's cool. Don't want dog hair in all the pizzas."

 

          So they took up a post of sorts outside the building, a foot or so from the door, near one of the newspaper boxes. Grif poked around on his phone while Cinnamon sat next to him, looking at this or that, getting up on occasion, walking a few steps out and then back, dog stuff.

Should he take him to the park? The big one was a train ride away, but there was a smaller one not super far... Well, maybe not now, they'd be there for all of five minutes before having to head back.

Maybe tomorrow? It was Friday, so he might get to escape work early, there would be fewer people, so, be a good time to get Cinnamon used to the place without the addition of bunches of other dogs? The guy was kind of anxious if he'd always been that way or it was because he'd been attacked Grif was still debating.

Poor guy.

  
          The only warning Grif had was an almost silent whine and a slight tugging from the leash on his wrist before he was abruptly yanked sideways, with a muffled cry of " _Whoa_!", stumbling but thankfully not falling as he was forcibly dragged a few feet away and into the mouth of the narrow alley between the pizza place and the building next to it. He was about to lecture Cinnamon, the one responsible for the sudden change of location, but the sight of the dog stopped him.

Cinnamon was all but pressed against the brick wall, crouched as if ready to run, his ears were back, hackles raised on his shoulders and haunches, tail tucked down. He seemed to be struggling not to bare his teeth, they'd show for a moment but then he'd swallow and lick his lips, going back to normal before they would twitch and the process would repeat. His eyes were unblinking and focused with a startling intensity at Grif.

No.

Not at him.

_Past_ him.

Confused Grif turned and looked behind him out of the alleyway. Cinnamon made a strangled sound of distress but didn't do anything else.

What had spooked him so badly?

On their side of the street, there wasn't really anyone else. A few people walking towards or away from them farther down, but no one that looked suspicious or dangerous, no one with any other dogs or animals. Same thing across the street too.

Grif was about to turn back to this nutball dog and scold him when he saw something.

He couldn't say really why it had caught his eye, he wasn't even actively looking, just the movement of eyes to look at something new. But they ended up snagged on something. Specifically, on a group of people standing on the corner of the opposing sidewalk, waiting to cross an intersection heading farther away.

Near the back of the group was a man.

Grif couldn't have told you what he looked like, he was too far away, just that he was Caucasian, maybe? Or just really pale? Bald? Maybe? Not sure. What he was sure of though was two things. First, that this man was **gigantic**. Second that he was _staring right at him_.

The Hawaiian almost choked on his own tongue. What the fuck? Why was this freaking him out like this? Yeah, it was weird when some rando on the street stared at you and it was doubly weird if they made eye contact. But hey, why wouldn't you stare if you heard a guy yell and saw him get yanked into an alley? He'd never felt like this before though. In those few eternities of eye contact, Grif was absolutely, unerringly, certain that this man was very dangerous.

Then the walk light changed. The gaggle of pedestrians started walking away. The man turned and headed off with the flow of foot traffic.

He didn't know why, but Grif was positive that he'd hesitated a moment before doing so.

_What the hell?_

"The fuck was that...?" he breathed quietly to himself. Automatically he turned to the dog, who looked more at ease but still anxious, "Hey... Was-?"

"Mr. Grif?"

Grif did not jump. He didn't!

"Oh, uh hey Katie." he greeted the confused girl awkwardly, "Sorry, we uh... squirrel, you know how dogs are."

The young woman smiled, "Are you trying to make friends with squirrels Cinnamon?"

The dog gave a playful growl and wagged his tail enthusiastically.

Ooookay...?

Why did it feel like he was covering for the dog? ...Why did it feel like the dog was covering for him, covering for the dog?

"Your order is ready if you want to come get it!" Katie continued, "Unless you're not done playing you silly goose!" the last part was aimed at Cinnamon, and said with an adoring coo.

"I think we're gonna give the squirrels a break. Come on buddy, let's get some grub."

  
          The stack of boxes on the counter was his, Grif knew, but he was surprised by the bag next to it.

At his questioning expression, Katie clapped her hands together sheepishly, "Just a little bonus for Cinnamon! Me and the girls thought he deserved a treat so we made him a batch of dog-friendly, cheesy, breadsticks." she blushed a bit, "Probably too many... But um! You don't need to worry about them costing extra! They're on the house! You're a great regular so I know Miss Kimball won't mind!"

"Well hot damn!" Grif grinned at Cinnamon as he passed Jensen several bills, cost plus tip, "Look at you, you stud! Getting free food? No higher compliment, you should say thank you."

The dog actually appeared to consider this. He looked up at Katie a moment, then sat and hoisted up his front paws so they were held up like when dogs are told to 'beg'. A series of playful sounding mumbles and babbles tumbled from his muzzle, punctuated by a low " _AwoooooooOOO_!" that rose in pitch and volume until it was a howl just loud enough to echo a bit off the walls. It was oddly melodic.

"Oh my gosh!" Katie squeaked, "That's like- that's so sweet! Mr. Grif! You have to bring Cinnamon the next time you come back! Please!?"

"You have to let us take photos too!" came a declaration, shouted from the back.

A chant of "Photo! Photo! Photo!" followed them out the door.

 

* * *

 

          The walk back was... Uneventful? Like, nothing actually happened? But... Well... It was, weird?

Unlike the trip there which had been straightforward, the route Grif took back was longer and more meandering. More, confusing? He couldn't say why really, maybe the big dude in the crowd had unnerved him more than he'd thought, but they weren't even a block down before the feeling of unease came back. So Grif took them through a few odd turns and weird shortcuts, only finally feeling at ease when they were a couple blocks from his building.

It didn't really register until they were safely in his apartment that he hadn't said anything the whole way back. Grif felt a bit bad about that suddenly, he'd been talking to Cinnamon almost nonstop, even though it hadn't even been a full day, it felt... Mean? Cold? Not to have kept the one-sided conversation going...

He felt a sudden pressure against his leg, Cinnamon, leaning against him, looking up with worried sad eyes. A soft smile tugged at his lips, unbidden, and Grif moved to put the pizzas down on the coffee table, turning to the dog and kneeling down, holding his arms out.

"C'mere buddy."

The dog took a tentative step forward and soon leaned his weight against Grif as the man hugged him.

"Sorry..." he soothed, "It was really scary huh? Freaked us both out a bit." he stroked the red fur thoughtfully, the question from before stuck in his throat unwilling to come out. He couldn't seem to actually ask it like the words were there but... Well... You shouldn't ask a question you already know the answer to, it's impolite.

  
_Was that the person who hurt you?_

  
Cinnamon bopped his muzzle against the side of Grif's jaw, sniffing and nuzzling. With a wry sort of grumble, the dog gave him a firm headbutt pushing him slightly in the direction of the food. Hold on a moment! Who was fussing over who, here?!

Grif grinned, ruffling the thick fluff, "You butt!" he snickered, "I'm supposed to be cheering you up you kissass!" Cinnamon huffed, but still wagged his tail. "You are right though," Grif admitted, getting up, "its food time now! No more sulking about creepy assholes!"

Sparing only enough time to refill Cinnamon's water, the plate from this morning was spotless, (good boy!) Grif plopped down on the couch, delicious pizza-y bounty spread out before him.

"Oh man," he groaned, looking into the bag of cheesy breadsticks, "there's a shit ton of these in here!" he pulled one out, breaking it open and stretching out the semi-gooey cheese inside. He gave Cinnamon a side glance, "I'm eating this one."

Cinnamon barked at him, doing a half hop to slap his front paws on the floor, grumbling, and whining.

"Yeah, I know I have three pizzas! I'm only eating one breadstick! There's like a **million** in here!"

Cinnamon glared at him. Grif defiantly licked the length of the breadstick, Cinnamon wailed and angrily stamped his paws again. Rolling his eyes Grif popped half the stick in his mouth and shook a hefty pile of them from the bag onto Cinnamon's plate. The dog scampered over and sniffed happily at them, snatching one up and chomping away.

Grif snickered, "Pig." raising a slice of pizza, sandwiched between two other slices, and taking a giant bite.

 

* * *

 

        _Grif's dream started out similar to the previous one. He was in the middle of... somewhere, wandering in the snow._

_This time though the mood was entirely different. It was still snowing, lightly, rather than a blizzard. He could see the several tall scattered pines around him as he wandered up the slope of a rocky bluff, along with some big slabs of stone buried in the dirt to make steps. All around him, in the distance he could see a line of mountains, dense forest, and, from higher up, what looked to be maybe a small town or something?_

_At the top of the bluff, he found an observation deck...? An outpost? A not particularly large wooden platform, with a short wooden rail and what looked like a protective overhang in one a corner, a cloth tied to a post and the rail, some kind of thick woven tarp?Something to protect against bad weather._

_Sitting on the edge, legs through the gaps in the railing, was a man. The same red-haired man. Clad in some kind of furred jacket? Or something? Whatever it was, it looked old._

_"You again?" the man- Simmons? Yes, that's right, Simmons- asked, glancing over his shoulder._

_Grif shrugged, "I guess?"_

_The redhead turned back to look out over the scene, "You're an... odd one. Not at all what I was expecting. I don't really get you."_

_Wandering closer Grif didn't reply, not really sure what that meant._

_"I can only think of a couple people who could end up here by accident."_

_"I don't know about that," Grif shrugged again, "I mean I'm pretty sure you can see this place easy from the ground."_

_Simmons looked puzzled by that but didn't say anything._

_"Can I sit here or...?" Grif asked, when Simmons nodded his consent he plunked down next to him, "What are you doing up here anyway?"_

_"Keeping watch." the other man began before cutting himself off abruptly, "I mean, I **used** to keep watch up here, a long time ago." his brow furrowed, "I haven't thought about it in a long time... I try not to- well any of it really." he made a noncommittal gesture, before leaning back on his hands, "I guess it makes sense you'd want to see."_

_"It is a really nice view." Grif started, unsure of what to say or do, he was probably making this awkward as hell, "What do you **do** up here? Are you always by yourself?"_

_Simmons hummed, "Sometimes. Before, if I was alone I might make up stories to pass the time, when I got a bit older I'd write them down, just silly stupid things, fairy stories, kid stuff."_

_"Sounds boring," Grif muttered, folding his arms over the railing and laying his head on them._

_"Yeah, I guess so." Simmons was quiet for a stretch, "May I ask you something?"_

_"Go for it."_

_"Why are we here?"_

_Grif blinked, tilting his head to look at his companion, "Oh, uh... Well, it’s one of life’s great mysteries isn't it?” he babbled, “Why are we here? I mean, are we the product of some cosmic coincidence, or is there really a god watching everything? You know, with a plan for us and stuff?" he turned his gaze back out to the snowy scene, "I don’t know, man, but it keeps me up at night."_

_Simmons blinked at him, "I... What?" he stared in confusion, "No, I mean why are we **here** , on this watchpoint?"_

_Face heating up Grif mumbled, "Oh, uh... Just talking, I guess?"_

_He heard Simmons shuffle a little closer, "Was that-um... Did you wanna talk about it...?"_

_Grif groaned in embarrassment burying his face in his arms, " **No**!" _

 

To be Continued.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so proud of how well this chapter clicked, like you don't even know! Hope you guys enjoyed it as much as I did writing it! I couldn't help myself and drew some pictures of Were-Simmons, posted to my tumblr (link below) just search "Pupper" and you'll find it! X) 
> 
> As always I'd love to know what you guys though! Your feedback is super helpful and gives me creative fuel! If you want to check out my art work or even just say hello, feel free to stop by my tumblr! Here--> http://cc-sketchbook.tumblr.com
> 
> See you guys next time! ~ Much love, CC


	3. Dogs have days... I guess?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grif expected there to be people at the park. And there were. He expected there to be dogs. And there were.  
> He did expect noise, like barking and shit. But um... Not this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: NONE! 8D 
> 
> As always special shout out to Prim for putting up with me sending random bits of this to her at all hours of the day! X)

 

 

          Grif sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose against an oncoming headache.

"That bad?" Tucker called out from his cubical.

"Yes..." the brunette groaned in reply.

"Sarge?"

" _Yeeeees_...."

The frown was apparent in Tucker's voice, "Well, like, what does he want?"

"New fliers..."

"Again? I mean I guess that's not bad but, didn't you just finish some?"

"He wants three new ones. One I can just do whatever which is fine but... The other two? He's got... _Ideas_."

"Oh..."

"They're so ugly Tucker, you don't even know!" Grif wailed, "I mean, I'll do it, I don't give a crap-"

"Isn't that why he hired you?" Tucker interjected.

"Yeah, I guess... Some shit about being sick of people arguing with him about it, just wanted it done. And like, I'll set it up like he asked but... Man, it goes against every principle of design, its ugly as sin." Grif groused, "It's like he doesn't even want people to hire us... Old bastard, should just put ads out online..."

Tucker snickered, "You're the worst Graphic Designer on the face of the Earth. Only you would complain about having constant work. You're full time, not contract, but you still bitching about putting together ugly ass posters, when you weren't gonna fix them even if he told you, you could.”

...

"Don't you have finances to balance _Lavernius_?"

The darker skinned man snorted, "Neeeerve... And I am! I'm just trying to make sense of all this stuff!" there was the sound of rustling paper, "I do know though that I **never** want to live uptown near 208."

Fuck it this was better than working, "Dare I ask why?"

"Because we've done at least 30 jobs up there over the last month and a half and they're all for **rats**!"

Grif balked, "That's a lot of rats..."

"Right!? But Sarge has them all labeled weird. Like, 'rats', 'rat prevention', 'rats + prevention', and 'rats + repair' I understand; but what the fuck is 'rats special'? 'Rats + special'?! 'Rats, other', 'rats + other'? 'REPAIR RATS'???!" Tucker rustled through more papers, "And Caboose gave me one he did that just says ' _rat ghosts_ ', like where the fuck do I put that!?"

"Under 'other'?" Grif supplied.

Tucker snorted, "I guess... We need to hire someone to organize this shit."

"I'm pretty sure that actually is your literal job though."

Tuning out Tucker's reply, the beginning of a long whiny rant about how it was his job to balance the books not organize them, Grif turned back to his computer screen, reluctantly creating a new canvas. He should get to work on those new posters.... He should, but he wouldn't. Gonna drag out that Graphic Nightmare™ as long as possible. Instead, he started roughing out a basic design for a 'found animal' poster.

"Is that for your dog?" Tucker chirped from behind him.

"Not **my** dog, but yeah. Adverse as I am to work, this can't really wait."

"Guess not." the darker man hummed, "How's Cinnamon doing anyway? Have to do a ton of cleaning when you got home?"

"Weirdly enough no." Grif replied, "I'm positive he's a service dog, dude. He knows how to use the toilet."

"Wait, for fucking real?!" the other man gaped, "I knew you could train cats to do that, guess it makes sense a dog could be too."

"Yeah. He's like person sized so its probably easier than like if he was a Chihuahua? I'm not gonna like, watch, to see how he does it though, might be curious but that's just fucking weird."

"Lucky for you at any rate. He doing good outside of that?"

"Eeeh? I guess? I mean, he's healing pretty good I think? Like the small cuts are almost gone. But... Well, we had a-" Grif cut himself off, coughing uncomfortably.

"Had a what?" Tucker pressed, "Did he like, rip up your couch or something?"

"No, we uh... Had a fight...?"

"Jesus!" the other man exclaimed, "Did he attack you?!"

"No! No no, not a literal fight! Like an argument!"

"You... Got in an argument with a dog...?"

"Well, when you say it like that it just sounds stupid..."

"You can't just say shit like that with no context dude!" Tucker scolded, "What did you even... Uh, argue about?"

"He didn't like the dog food I bought him." Grif groused, undoing and redoing a border he couldn't decide if he liked or not, "He was just staring at it and then he started whining and pacing. Then he was laying on the floor yelling at the top of his lungs. Like a fucking little kid!"

Tucker was oddly quiet for a moment, "And... You didn't say or do anything to _exacerbate_ things...?" he asked in a strained voice.

"I- well I didn't do anything crazy!" Grif groused indignantly, "I had to raise my voice to be heard over him and he just went louder and so I had to and I told him he was being ridiculous!" he grit his teeth, "Ugh! It's just dog food! He should just eat the stupid stuff I'm not made of money! Huge waste of food!"

Tucker finally cracked and burst out laughing, "Holy shit! Oh my god! You really did get into an argument with a dog! Fuck! I can't breath!" he took several gasping breaths between peels of laughter, "Please tell me there's video!"

"Who would even record it?" Grif seethed, angrily mashing shortcut keys.

"I don't know! But come on! That's hysterical! You can't just tell me about it and not have video! This is the modern age man!"

Grif _humphed_ , staunchly ignoring his cackling coworker. He had a pretty good design going. Now... Did he want to have a big photo and one set of info? Or a smaller photo with rip away info strips...?

Oh, right, he'd need a photo too...

 

* * *

 

          His door was open.

Grif had at least three heart attacks when he saw the telltale crack. Did Cinnamon get out!? _Did someone break in!?_ **Did they hurt Cinnamon!!!?**

Before he could even think to be cautious the heavy man had darted to the door and basically threw it open. His head snapped to the side at a shrill shriek off to his right!

His cry of 'Cinnamon!' never made it out of his mouth, his eyes registering what they were seeing before his brain properly processed it. When it did though, his look of shock quickly morphed into a silent snarl.

Cinnamon **was** there. He was on his back, tail wagging so furiously that his whole rump wiggled back and forth. Crouched over him, going to town on his belly, cooing baby talk and laughing in a shrill cackle was-

" **KAI**!" Grif boomed, all but slamming the door closed, "What did I fucking say about breaking into my apartment!? You didn't even shut the door!"

Cinnamon froze completely still at the first shout, by the time Grif finished he'd flipped over and scampered over to him, hiding behind his legs, staring at Kai, ears back in concern. Fear? Maybe _shame_?

"Aww, damn it Dex!" the younger Grif whined, climbing back to her feet, flipping her massive mop of thick wavy hair behind her, "You know how long it took me to get him to let me pet him? He hid from me for an hour! An **hour**!" she crossed her arms in a sulk, "Didn't even tell me you got a dog! Asshole!"

Grif huffed, "I didn't get a dog. He's someone else's. I found him, and soon as I find _them_ he's going home." Cinnamon made a soft high pitched sound and Grif found worried green eyes peering up at him, ears back, shifting his weight from paw to paw, claws clicking faintly against the wood. Ignoring Kai's retort of, "That's stupid." he crouched down to console the distraught animal.

"Hey, chill dude." he muttered, petting the broad head soothingly, "I'm not mad at you. I'm mad at her." Kai humphed somewhere behind him, "She knows she's not supposed to just break in- **whenever she feels like it!** Sorry, she spooked you buddy."

"I didn't!" Kai squawked from the couch where she'd flung herself in a huff, "and you saw him! He was on cloud fucking nine! Dogs love belly rubs!" she turned her nose up at Grif when he made his way over, "And I didn't break in, I used the key you gave me you turd! So stop showing off to your stupid, not your dog..."

Grif sighed sitting down on the sofa next to his sister, hand going automatically to Cinnamon's head when the dog rested it on his knee, "Why did you come here, Kai?"

"What I can't just visit?" the young woman challenged, insulted. She sputtered when her brother raised an eyebrow, "It's true! I just wanted to hang out! Its Friday, I had a shitty day, I just wanna chill out and watch stupid shit, eat pizza!"

"Had pizza last night." Grif commented snidely.

" _Psh_ , like you, wouldn't do pizza every night." she frowned, "Come on Dex..."

Grif peered at Kai from the corner of his eye, taking in her expression, the look in her eyes, finally, he sighed, "Real bad day?"

Kai seemed to wilt a little and nodded.

"What happened?"

"It's not a big deal!" she blurted out as a preface, "Just, like... I met this guy, Josh... And it wasn't like we were dating or anything. But we'd hang out and like have fun, you know? And like, I thought we were on the same wavelength and shit?" she scrunched up her face, Kai wasn't really prone to crying, but there was a faint glint in her eye, "Fucking found out he was running up my cards behind my back... Didn't care about me or having a good time or hanging out, just fucking wanted to rob me, bastard."

"Christ..." Grif breathed, even Cinnamon looked concerned, shuffling forward to boop his nose against Kai's leg, "What'd he take? You need rent?"

Kai sniffed, collecting herself, "Kelly, that cool chick from the bar near me? She got it all back, she and her boyfriend kicked his ass."

"That's good at least."

"Yeah, they're cool... I should sleep with them."

"Kai, no."

Big brother mode fully activated Grif lopped an arm around his idiot sister's shoulders, pulling her against him in a hug, she leaned against him, one hand holding onto the hem of his jacket, just like when they were little.

"Okay," Grif said eventually.

"Sibling night?"

"Sibling night."

"Pizza and stupid shows and making fun of morons on the internet?"

"Sure." Grif half laughed, looking down at Cinnamon, who peered up at him from where his head sat basically in Grif's lap, tilted in curiosity as dogs often did, "How 'bout it boy? Wanna go see all your girlfriends again?"

"Doggo has bitches?!" Kai chirped, immediately interested, sorrows seemingly forgotten.

"His name is Cinnamon."

"Like a stripper?! No wonder he's got a harem!"

Grif semi glared, "No. It's just a joke. All the girls at the pizza place love him."

"Damn Sin! You even seduced all the lesbians? Good for you!"

Cinnamon looked exceedingly nonplussed.

 

* * *

 

 

          Nothing of particular note happened on the way to the pizza place, which you know, was normal. It was just pizza. Still, he'd- well Grif almost had expected to see giant scary dude again.

Again, no reason to expect it, but he was still a little on edge.

  
They'd placed their order through the open door. i.e. shouted, "Jenson! Pizza!" with Kai trilling her own order right after. Katie's laugh echoed in the small space and was shortly followed by a bellow of "DOG!" from Volleyball. (as Grif had dubbed her)

"When we pick up our food you guys can see him!" Grif called to the back, "He owes you photos as thanks for those sweet cheesy sticks you gave him. Don't cha boy?"

Cinnamon looked concerned but still thumped his tail. Take that as a yes then.

  
Next order of business was snacks and beer, which was on Kai, he was paying for Pizza after all.

Nothing of any real note there either.

There was a brief moment where Cinnamon had perked up and Grif had had that feeling of being watched again. It had lasted only a moment though and turned out to be the store's cat, whom Cinnamon seemed to have a silent yet amicable staring contest with.

Guess the guy was good with cats, which was fortunate because there were several that frequented his building and the last thing he needed was the dog barking his head off at the ass-crack of dawn... Not sure about other dogs yet... Oddly they hadn't seen any while they were walking either today or the day before. Not impossible obviously, but he'd have thought they would. They'd find out tomorrow, he'd said they'd go to the park and they were. Begrudgingly. With much protest. He wasn't doing this for his health!

....

He wasn't doing it to be responsible either!

  
          They left the store with a bag loaded with snacks and a case of decent beer, Kai already griping about having to carry it. Grif wasn't about to, no matter how much she pleaded, he was going to be carrying the pizzas.

"What about Minny-Sinny?" Kai groused, "Can't he carry some of it? He's big enough!"

"Carry it how?" Grif snipped, "In his mouth?" he rolled his eyes when Kai nodded, "The bag is made of paper, it would fall the fuck apart, even if it didn't it would drag on the ground and rip. You'd be carrying it anyway."

"I don't know! Get him one of those backpack things! I see dogs and cats and shit with them in videos all the time!"

"He's not a pack animal," Grif frowned, "and again he's not my dog. I'm not gonna have his owner get pissed at me for fucking with their service animal."

Kai hummed, "So he is a service dog?"

"Don't know what else he could be. He's smart as hell and he can do all kinds of shit so..."

The younger Grif gave Cinnamon a suspicious eye, "You're not a cop dog are ya? You have to tell me, it's the law!"

"He's not a cop Kai..."

"Good. He'd be evil if he was and then I'd have to hate him..."

"You're such an idiot."

Kai stuck out her tongue, "Takes one to know one!"

  
          Their return to the pizza place was heralded by the cheers of what looked to be everyone on staff, several of whom were already waiting outside with their phones out.

To his credit, despite being nervous and unsure of what was going on, Cinnamon was spectacularly well behaved. He let the girls take numerous photos, some on their own, some group shots, he even let them hug him, something that seemed to make Katie really happy.

Grif couldn't help but wonder if she had conflicting feelings about dogs? Like she loved them but was also nervous? Or maybe Cinnamon just gave off a vibe of safety? Like worried as he was he'd go to bat for you?

Made sense if he was a service dog.

'Least that's the feeling he got?

Back to photos though, that reminded him.

"Oh, remind me, Sis, I need to get a good photo of him at some point. For his poster." she probably wouldn't remind him but, worth a shot.

"Why don't you just take one now?" his sister shot back, face scrunched up in confusion, "He's like right there." She seemed to realize something, "Actually, no, give me your phone, you take crap selfies, and your other stuff just sucks." she made a grabby motion with her hand. (As opposed to what? Her foot?)

Reluctantly Grif passed his phone to his sister. An awkward moment passed.

"Well?" she asked, staring at him.

"Well, what?"

The Hawaiian girl rolled her eyes, "Go hug the friken dog dude! God!"

Taken aback Grif did as he was told without really thinking about it, crouching down next to the massive hound.

"Put your arm around him, doofus." Kai sighed flatly, "And smile! You want his owners to think some weirdo found their dog? I mean that's true but we don't have to broadcast it!"

Eye twitching momentarily at his sister's comments Grif huffed and settled a hand on Cinnamon's back, smiling at the dog when it turned to look at him curiously.

"Say cheese buddy!" Kai called, bringing the rusty pup's attention to her, "Oh that was a perfect shot!" she cheered a moment later, faint digitized shutter sound the only indication she'd actually taken a picture.

"Good job big guy." Grif praised, giving said 'guy' an affectionate ruffle to the top of his head.

Cinnamon gave him a look that was oddly contemplative. It lasted for a moment before the large animal had scooted closer, pushing his big head up under Grif's chin, leaning some of his weight against the hefty man.

Was this like... The dog equivalent of a hug?

For the briefest of moments, he forgot about the semi crowed around him. Looking down and seeing green eyes perking up to meet his, he felt an almost, pang? A tightness in his chest. There was something.... Familiar? Not in the normal way, because yeah he'd seen Cinnamon's eyes before, but more... Like... Something he couldn't quite remem-

"Oh my god that was so cute! Please tell me you got a photo of that! Please please please?"

"Oh, you bet I did!" Kai chirped back to whichever girl had squeaked.

"Huh?" Grif mumbled dumbly, shaken from, whatever that was? Taken a photo of what now?

"Can we have a copy?" Jensen asked, "It was like, so sweet! We'd love to put it on the bulletin board!" the other girls chimed in their support of this idea, "You can put found posters up here too if you want. Cinnamon is such a sweetie, we'd love to help him grit home." she regarded Grif with an almost sad look, "It's almost a shame, you know? I think he really likes you."

Maybe. Not like it mattered. He wasn't going to get attached.

 

* * *

 

 

          They'd made it back home in short order, bags of snacks and stacks of pizza, and another gift of bread-sticks for Cinnamon. (Though far less than before)

Speaking of, tasty as bread-sticks were, and hypocritical as is probably was, he wasn't just going to let Cinnamon eat nothing but bread-sticks. Cuz, you know, it was one thing for him to eat junk food all the time, he was an adult human who could make choices and shit, Cinnamon could not. So there was a certain amount of responsibility that came with having something like that living in your house.

Again, maybe hypocritical, but if he followed his natural want to do nothing, the dog would inevitably get worse, maybe even die, and on top of having a dead dog on his conscience he'd also have to look in the eye of whatever elderly veteran with a bum leg and shaky hands or little kid in a wheelchair with no legs and sobbing little face and say, 'Your dog died because I literally could not be bothered.'

So yeah, that kind of overrode his innate want to do nothing.

"Pick out whatever you wanna watch," he told his sister, as he wandered to the kitchen, "I gotta get this pain in the butt some food."

"He can't just eat pizza?" Kai called.

"Nope!" Grif replied, hunting around for the right cabinet he'd put the cans in, "Not unless you want him farting all night, best case, crapping everywhere, at worst."

Kai's " _EEEW_!" echoed off the walls.

  
          It took Grif a moment to find the food. He'd been sure he'd thrown it in the same cabinet as the rest of his canned shit, but he found it in the one next to it, stacked neatly to the side.

Huh. Weird.

He turned one of the cans around in his hand, the royal blue label, glossy in the overhead light. ...He could have sworn the one from this morning was yellow...

Feeling only slightly crazy, Grif peeked over the edge of the bin, sure enough peeking out from under a paper towel was the can from this morning. Yellow label.

Okay, so he wasn't crazy. But then...

Grif stared hard at the can in his hand.

...

......

Guess he must have grabbed a yellow one too? He was in a huge hurry the other day. Hadn't really been paying attention?

Well okay then!

  
As was probably to be expected, opening the can summoned the dog. Grif spotted him peeping around the door frame into the kitchen.

Well well well!

"Hopefully you'll eat this one." Grif said flatly, carrying the bowl of stinky wet food into the living room, pup in tow, staring eagerly up at the food, "I mean you better, I won't give you bread-sticks if you don't!"

"Are you lecturing the _dog_?"

"Lectured you when you were being a shit, didn't I?"

Kai barked out an only semi insulted sound, whacking his leg with a couch pillow when he went by.

Cinnamon still had his eyes locked eagerly on the dish and actually licked his chops, raising up ever so slightly so his front paws were hovering only the barest amount off the floor. When Grif put the bowl down, he eagerly shoved his nose in it, sniffing excitedly at the food, then noisily chomping down a mouthful.

Grif blinked in surprise, "That's uh... Different."

"It is?" Kai asked from around a mouthful of pizza.

Her brother dropped down on the couch next to her without preamble, grabbing a slice of his own, "Mhmm," he hummed, "Wouldn't even touch the stuff I gave him this morning. Was a different brand though, guess I grabbed it by accident at the store." he gave Cinnamon a side eye, "He threw a fucking tantrum. Laid down on the floor like a god damn kid."

Cinnamon popped his head up and stared Grif straight in the eye. I did not!

"Yeah you did, you can't even deny it, because you can't talk."

Cinnamon stared harder.

"Plus I win automatically anyway, I have thumbs."

Kai snickered, "You two are fucking adorable." she fumbled for the remote, "Help me pick something to watch." she clicked in the TV, going right for the guide, "I want to watch something like trash drama. Think Jersey Shore is on?"

"Absolutely not."

She pouted, "Awe come on! Bet Sin wants to watch it!"

"Hate to break it to you Sis but that dog likes Star Trek."

Cinnamon gave a food muffled, " _Borf_!"

"See?"

"Awe damn it, you got a fucking nerd dog?"

Grif rolled his eyes, "Just put it on Food Network, it's like 80% reality TV now anyway, and at least I'll get to look at cake."

Kai snorted, scrolling down, "Maybe, if its the one with the hot angry screaming dude."

Grif rolled his eyes. "Oh! Hey, wait! Stop!" he burst out a moment later, "That! We should watch that!" he pointed two channels up.

Kai frowned, "HG? Why?"

"Look what's on doofus."

Her eyes widened, "Oh fuck me, yes!" she grinned like a son of a bitch, "It's ' _You don't deserve this house_ '!"

"Impending divorce: How long will this marriage last?"

"Let's Fight over this Bathroom."

"Everything I wanted, under budget, but I hate this floor!"

"THERE MIGHT BE **BROWN PEOPLE** NEXT DOOR!"

Cinnamon looked at them like they'd lost their minds.

 

* * *

 

 

          All in all the evening had been pretty good. They'd gone through all the pizza, most of the snacks, almost all the beer. They flipped back and forth between shows for a bit, some shitty reality show or whatever, the more absurd the better in his sister's opinion, Grif didn't really care, though some of the worst ones irritated the crap out of him. He could only stand concentrated stupid for so long. At some point, they'd ended up on some craptacular movie about a dog that could play... Basketball? Soccer? Something like that?

...maybe it was more than one movie?

Kaikaina had been delighted, babbling tipsily at Cinnamon, as she and Grif gave him pieces of bread-stick, asking if he could play basketball, saying they could make a fortune off a magic sports dog.

In a giggly goofy state, Grif had hopped to his feet, swaying slightly, declaring that they needed to see if Cinnamon was tall enough to even play. He held a bread-stick over his head, high up as he could, teasing and calling the dog to hop up and get it.

And he did.

Slowly, like he was worried about being scolded, the animal rose up carefully on his hind legs. His front paws landing solidly on Grif's shoulders to keep from falling, stretching his neck out and plucking the treat from Grif's fingers.

"Fuck!" Kai tittered, eyes big as plates, a grin just as large, "Look at _hiiiim_! Such a tall boy! He's taller than you!" she plopped back against the backrest, a flutter with giggles, "Bro that's no dog that's a fucking **wolf**! We got a **wolf** Dex! That's so fucking _cooooool_!"

Grif barked out a laugh, arms looping about the big animal, helping to steady him, snuggling the thick fluff around his neck, "Aww, man you're such a good boy! I should have named you Wolfie, you're so _biiiig_!"

"That's what she said!" Kai cheered, "Oh my god! No! There's this video!" she babbled, moving to change the input on the TV.

"No." Grif frowned, probably not looking as serious as he intended, basically hugging the dog.

"Not like that! Gross, you're my brother! I have some standards!" Kai pointedly patted the couch next to her, "It's a fuckin- it's like a dog and shit! Animal video! There's a trampoline and a cat!"

Grif snorted, "Wanna watch it, buddy?"

Cinnamon tilted his head again, an ear perking up to listen, he made a little rumbly sound and bopped his snout against Grif's jaw, where it met his ear.

Another puppy hug? Yay!

Grif gave him a tight squeeze then let him go, making sure the dog landed steadily on the floor. Man, what a good fucking dog!

  
          They'd all somehow crammed together on the couch in the end, and watched stupid animal videos on the net until... Well until some unholy hour, where Kai had long since dozed off and was slowly falling over onto the couch.

Blinking sleepily, Grif carefully got up, nudging Kai gently so she'd lay down properly on the sofa, and tossed a blanket over her.

Cinnamon looked up from where he'd moved to snooze on the rug.

"It's okay buddy." Grif near whispered, "I'm just going to bed. You don't have to get up."

Cinnamon looked unsure but lay his head back down anyway.

 

          A change from pants to no pants and Grif was in bed. He threw the blankets over his head, curling up into a toasty warm burrito. Not a bad evening, not bad at all... Hopefully, Kai felt better... She was a ditz but she was still his sister... For all the mistakes and bad choices, she made she was still a good person... Didn't deserve to get treated like that... Assholes...

...He was sleepy... Good sleepy... Nice, warm, sleepy...

…

......

  
.........

 

He couldn't sleep.

Son of a bitch! Why? _Whyyyyyyyy_?! He was so tired, his eyes were too heavy to open, but he just couldn't- was he just not comfortable?

Somehow, after some unknown amount of time, Grif forced himself to roll over.

No, he was comfortable.

Still exhausted and achingly sleepy, like at the point where your brain starts to skip because you're falling asleep? He just couldn't!

Grif rolled over again and whined in frustration.

Aww, come on! This was so unfair! It wasn't like he wasn't tired! He was so very tired, so why couldn't he...

…

......

.........

  
He was going to cry. Like for real.

He just wanted to sleep... Why couldn't he sleep?

 

  
          Dimly, Grif heard someone moving about. Soft footsteps, someone trying not to make too much noise. Or... Maybe trying to make just _enough_ noise...?

...Why would he think that...?

There was a faint creek at the door and the sound of steps again. Soft and padding.

Finally managing to wrench his eyes open, Grif peered blearily at the shape in his room.

A massive silhouette, almost completely blended in with the shadows, a faint suggestion of outline in rusty red on the side facing the little window, ghosted there by moonlight and street light. The eyes, glinting dusty silver, standing out like odd embers in the darkness.

The nearly identical sight from just a couple nights before had filled him with chilling fear the last time he'd seen it. A primal, instinctive, terror, a sudden and acute awareness of being prey in the room with a predator.

Now though? He felt none of that.

In fact, he felt the same tightness in his chest that he had when they were taking photos, accompanied by a wave of relief.

He was only distantly aware of reaching out with the hand not trapped beneath his pillow, sluggish and sleepy, towards the shadow. Dimly felt the soft fur against his palm as the creature crept closer.

The mattress dipped when it climbed up and he felt it settle behind him, and then the firm, comforting weight of a large head resting on his back.

... _Finally_... He found himself thinking as sleep finally embraced him.

 

_That night he dreamed in fragments and slivers._

_An odd amalgamation of settings and people, to which he seemed to be only an observer, which suited him just fine, to be honest, revolving mostly around parties or get-togethers, large groups of family maybe? Or neighbors? A slightly bitter sense of regret. Missing despite being separate even then... Surrounded by people but somehow alone. But I still miss you..._

_And in between them, he dreamt he was dozing on a hillside in soft grass at the base of a titanic tree, the beginnings of dense forest around him. Warm sun, soft grass, and someone beside him, red hair and glinting green eyes, humming quietly to himself, hand resting protectively on his back._

* * *

 

 

          Kai was already gone when Grif woke up. Her departure marked only by her absence and a number of photos sent to his phone. The ones she'd taken the other day and some clearly from this morning, depicting himself fast asleep with Cinnamon's great fluffy bulk draped over him like some weird security blanket.

Or protective guard dog.

  
Grif groaned, fantastic, she'd probably put it up on all her social media already...

Whatever.

"Hey there big guy," he said with a yawn, turning to look at his companion.

The dog was laying there still, with his head on Grif's chest, looked like he'd been awake for a bit. The big expressive eyes closed when he reached up to scratch along the brow and behind the ears, the dog gave an appreciative rumble.

"Were you waiting for me to wake up?" the human asked, continuing his affectionate attention, "Probably ready for breakfast..." Cinnamon perked when Grif's stomach growled, "Well, I am." the Hawaiian laughed, "Let me up."

 

          Cinnamon complied and a couple minutes later the two were mulling about in the kitchen.

Grif was at the stove, in the process of trying to decide how he wanted his eggs. Fried? Scrambled? Didn't have anything for an omelet... Plus that was so much _woooork_!

Cinnamon was sat on the floor, just kind of watching him.

Hmm... I wonder...

"Hey buddy?" he called, deciding to go with scrambled and looking for a passable bowl, "How are you doing on water? Can you bring me your bowl?"

He bit back a grin when the dog got up and headed for the living room.

"Good boy." he praised when Cinnamon returned, bowl held up by its edge between powerful teeth, seemed there was a bit of water still in it and pupper was trying not to spill it.

Grif took the dish and filled it up, "Okay. Put it back."

Cinnamon balked, looking at him, then the bowl, then back, then again. He gave a little whine and wiggled his whole body, tapping from foot to foot, something Grif was quickly deciphering to be an 'unsure, but gearing up to try so I don't disappoint you' gesture. Before he could take it though Grif pulled it back with a laugh.

"Nah dude, I'm just fucking with you. It'd spill all over the floor." he laughed, taking the couple steps to the little table in the corner, setting the bowl down nearby, "Probably should keep this here from now on. Not as big a crisis if it spills. Plus I'd probably step in it eventually..."

Cinnamon huffed at him but still wagged his tail and walked around him in a loose circle while he moved back to the stove.

"If you get me your other bowl I'll give you food."

The dog scampered to get it.

 

          "I promised you a trip to the park today didn't I?" Grif asked, some two hours later, having cleaned his plate of four scrambled eggs, four pieces of toast, and half a packet of bacon, a while ago.

Cinnamon, flopped beside him on the couch, who'd appeared to actually be watching the news (the only thing on now that morning cartoons were over) with a sort of fascination, turned to stare at Grif abruptly, tail giving a hesitant bobble.

The human stretched and yawned, getting reluctantly up to chuck the previously mentioned plate in the sink, "Way I figure... We can go out to the park, let you go nuts for a bit." he gave Cinnamon a flat look, "Don't expect me to run around, by the way, I don't do that. I'll like, nap under a tree or something till you're done." back to the point, "On the way back we can stop at the store for some food. You're good 'till next weekend I think, but I need stuff."

Plate to sink and Grif made to go to his room, "Just let me grab some pants and we can go."

There was a loud almost... Offended? Warble from behind him. Grif whipped around to see Cinnamon staring at him.

"What?"

The dog made an exasperated sound and walked about him in a deliberate circle, before stopping in front of him, blocking his way to his room.

"Dude, what's your deal?"

The dog barked, smacking a paw on the floor.

"What do you _WANT_!?" Grif whined, like seriously, what?

Grumbling, the dog pattered back over, scooting to the side, hopped up a bit and gave him a deliberate headbutt, force enough to make him stumble to the side, nearly tumbling through the door of-

The bathroom?

"Dude I'm not giving you another bath, I'll fill the tub up for you later if you really want but not now."

Did that dog just roll its eyes?

Cinnamon sniffed, almost dramatically at the hem of his shirt, before hopping back a step and sneezing, a paw coming up to wipe at his muzzle.

Are you fucking serious?

"I am not taking a shower."

Both paws up, swiping at the muzzle.

"No."

Cinnamon barked.

" _No_!"

Another bark and both front paws slammed on the floor.

"I do not stink! And even if I did-!"

The dog howled.

"You're being dramatic!"

Another howl, much longer and louder. Oh lord, it was yesterday morning all over again!

"Then we can just sit here until we **die**!"

Cinnamon threw his head back, howl breaking off into an almost human-sounding bellow of exasperation, and he fucking held that scream for a solid ten seconds.

"Fine!" Grif shouted, "God! You're like my fucking mother!"

 

* * *

 

 

          Seemed like a million years before they actually made it to the park. Cinnamon wouldn't let them leave until Grif had put on a clean pair of clothes too. Grumbling and grumpy, his mood had only brightened minutely at the sight of Cinnamon sitting attentively by the door, leash and harness held in his mouth.

The park, the nice big proper one, necessitated taking the train. Which, Cinnamon took well. He didn't seem to be particularly happy with it, slipping a bit whenever the car jerked or stopped when he wasn't expecting. He seemed to be trying to give Grif space, which suited him just fine. Maybe he should feel bad, but it kind of cheered the large man up served him right for being a butt. About halfway there though, Grif had decided he'd cooled off enough, mostly due to watching Cinnamon try to stay steady while also dodging the little boy three seats over who kept making a valiant grab for a big pointy ear whenever he got too close.

He'd put his arm partially around the pup to keep him steady, he'd gotten a wag for that and a big ol' head sat on his leg.

His heart in no way melted.

Not at all.

Not even a little.

  
          Grif expected there to be people at the park. And there were. He expected there to be dogs. And there were.

He did expect noise, like barking and shit. But um... Not _this_.

They'd started off kind of meandering. Grif had been to the park more than once, so he knew where he wanted to be. There weren't any officially designated spots for things, but as with most public places, over time, it had become kind of unofficial. Like, you play games, catch and soccer and shit, over there in _that_ field, jogging on _that_ path, music on _that_ path, but not _there_ , and dogs over **here**.

So that's where he'd gone, Cinnamon in tow. And- you have to trust him on this one. Swear to god. For real.

They didn't do _anything_.

Nothing. No weird looks, no comments, no like throwing stuff, no yelling. They literally just stepped through the gate, half a second passed, in which every dog turned like they'd been rehearsing, stared at them for a half second more, and, collectively. Lost. Their. **Shit**.

  
          Grif almost jumped out of his fucking skin when easily twenty some odd dogs all started barking and howling at the same time. Some of the owners shouting out when a few dogs tried to pull free of their leashes.

Some ratty little purse dog, the sort that like, looked like mops or sentient clouds, off to the left, strained to get free of its owner's arms, snarling and snapping, howling at the top of its shrill little lungs.

"Hey! Do something about your dog!" the woman holding it shouted. Rich bitch, he could tell, fancy name brand work out clothes, hair back in a prim, super tight ponytail, fucking fake tan, probably had a latte floating about here somewhere.

Grif balked, "Fuck you, lady, you do something about yours! Mine didn't do a god damn thing!" and that was honest to god truth, Cinnamon was beside him, he was frozen still, looking at the ground. He wasn't growling or puffed up, not cowering, just... Looking like he was waiting for it all to be over.

The woman snarled "Well he must have done **something**!" she struggled with the wiggling ball of anger, "We were all fine until you showed up with your- your, _Monster Dog_!"

There was a small chorus of agreement from a few of the other owners.

"Hold on a god damn minute!" Grif growled, starting to get genuinely mad, "He's a great dog! Look at him! He's totally chill, it's your dog that's acting like a psycho!”

Like fluffy the murder dog had been waiting for its cue, the little shit managed, at that moment, to slip free from their owner's hold, actually bouncing on the ground before making a beeline for Grif, barking its fucking head off. With a startled, "Hey!" Grif took a preemptive step back from snapping little jaws. Probably wouldn't cause any serious damage, it was only the size of a toaster, but he still wasn't keen on getting bit. Ended up being unnecessary though, because before the little shit even got within half a foot of him, Cinnamon had moved in the way, stomping a paw on the ground and fixing a stare at the little mop that caused it to freeze in its tracks, jerking back like it had run its tether.

"Hey, now..." Grif tried carefully, worried for a brief moment that it was about to become a snack.

Bravado regained, the little dog resumed barking and made a fake charge at Cinnamon. Before Grif could do anything else, the back bristled, the hackles rose, ears went back, and Cinnamon let loose a bark- well if it even was a bark, it wasn't a howl - but whatever it was it put his bark over the phone at Sarge to shame. It was **LOUD** , and Grif swore that it had a kick to it like thunder too close to your house. It echoed around the little area and at the same time every other dog shut right the hell up.

The little dog too, who further punctuated the now eerie silence, by peeing.

  
Okay so... People were staring now.

The woman gaped at them, visibly shaky, stammering out half-formed words as she started and stopped moving to get her equally shaky dog.

 

          "Okay," came a voice from behind, and a man moved into view, bending down to pick up the dog and pass it off to the woman, "I think that's about enough, Linda, don't you?" he flashed her a cheerful smile, "Princess needs a little quiet, she's had quite a scare hasn't she? Maybe next time you won't be such a grump, huh?" he patted the frozen dog's head, "When you yell, sometimes the people you yell at yell back!"

Grif blinked, who the fuck....?

"How about you?" the man crouched down in front of Cinnamon, looking at him but not touching, "Bunch of loud little pains in your keister, huh? They're just freaking out because you're so big!" he reached out a hand, offering the back, "You're okay though, right? Not in fear mode? Just trying to keep your buddy safe?"

Cinnamon gave the hand a sniff and allowed the man to pet his head.

"I'm sorry, and you are?" Grif finally managed to ask.

"Hi, Sorry! I'm Doc!" the man chirped, oh boy, dad jokes, that wasn't annoying as hell. Doc laughed at his own joke, "Actually I'm Frank, but my friends, and patients, call me Doc." he got to his feet again and made a shooing motion to the other dog owners, "Everything's fine here folks! Just give your doggies some love, everyone just got freaked out, it's all good!"

The owners didn't seem entirely sure, but in the end went along with what Doc wanted, getting as much space as the area would allow and soothing their anxious pets.

"You might want to take him somewhere else," Doc told Grif quietly, "at least for now. They may get used to him after a while but sometimes once dogs get spooked by one that's different they never relax." he jerked his head to indicate behind them, "We've had the same problem unfortunately, they don't flip when he comes in anymore but no one is happy to see him."

Looking behind them Grif finally noticed the other dog. It was a ways back, by a large tree, sitting still and seemingly observing them with a sour look on its face, if a dog could look grumpy... A big, jet black- looked like a Doberman? Ears and tail hadn't been cut though so it looked off from what you'd expect.

"Oh," Grif mumbled, "Well I guess I don't blame them, he looks like an asshole..."

Doc laughed, "Oh nah, Omega is a bit grumpy, yeah, but he's a real sweetheart when you get to know him! Bark is worse than his bite!"

"Uh huh. Well, that's great for you but, why do we have to leave? We didn't do anything and yeah he's big but he's just like a Husky or whatever..."

"Oh, that isn't a Husky."

Grif's eyes narrowed, "What do you mean?"

"Oh ah!" Doc scrambled, "I didn't mean- like he's a mix! Has a little bit of the wild in him too, don't cha boy? All those mean puppies smell it, a bunch of bullies, huh?"

Cinnamon looked uncomfortable and Grif had to say he agreed, this dude was weird as fuck, "So, you're like a vet...?"

"Sure am!" Doc chirped, "Well, I am **now**! Went to med school for people, but that didn't work out, but beggars can't be choosers!"

"Uh huh..." Grif shifted uncomfortably, he could practically feel Cinnamon boring a hole in his head with his stare. Can we please go now? "Guess we should uh... Go be not near the other dogs..."

"Oh! Yeah, it's better for your pup too! Less stress!" Doc pointed to an area a bit away, "Over there is pretty good, sometimes people play games and stuff but nothing organized. Should be a good place for him to run around without being harassed."

"Then that's where we'll be going." Grif smiled awkwardly, "Come on boy, let's not bother these... nice... people anymore..."

Glancing back as they left, Grif saw Doc waving, Omega now by his side and- uh... he... seemed to be chewing on Doc's leg...

These dog park people were fucking weeeeird.

  
          The spot they'd been pointed to was good at least. A line of trees separated this slice of the park from the others. Gave Grif a nice place to sit while Cinnamon did his thing.

Speaking of...

"You're not going to run away are you?" Grif eyed the pupper worriedly, "Like when I let you off this leash you're not gonna take off and never come back, right?"

Cinnamon peered up at him, tail swishing.

"I mean, I can't find your family if you're not here... But I was serious about my no running policy."

The dog raised a paw and put it on Grif's leg.

"That better be a 'yes I understand'..." Grif muttered.

Cinnamon made a rumbly, mouthy, sound in reply.

Taking a deep breath, trying to ignore the unease in his stomach, Grif reached back and unhooked the leash from Cinnamon's harness.

"Okay, go for it."

The dog gave a happy bark, hoped in a little circle and took off like a shot into the field.

Grif almost started for a second, afraid that he really was just going to keep going and never come back, a sort of strangled noise bouncing about in his throat. At that moment Cinnamon stopped running and perked, turning back to look at him. In the blink of an eye he'd scampered back over and before Grif realized it, he was assailed by a wiggly sniffing dog, climbing almost in his lap and knocking him over.

"Hey! I'm- _ack_! Stop it! I'm fine!" he said.

(You know, like a lair)

Grif looped his arms around the big animal, hiding his face in the fluff, "I'm okay. You can go have fun. I know you need to run around. Just... Come back, okay?"

To his surprise, he got a sort of nuzzle back. It... kind of made him feel better.

  
It was easier to watch Cinnamon run about after that. Bolting from one end of the field to the other, doing laps around trees, rolling around in the grass. Periodically he'd come back over to Grif, who couldn't shake the notion that he was being checked on, Cinnamon would give him a sniff and maybe a headbutt, then run off into the field again.

At one point he brought back a fairly large pine cone and plopped it in Grif's lap, scampering off again before the man could say anything.

After about- damn almost a whole hour!- the big fluffy menace loped back over, sitting down with an audible thump next to Grif, excited panting making his chest visibly swell.

Grif looked up from the video he'd been watching on his phone, "All done?"

Cinnamon heaved a deep breath in reply and lay down, head resting on Grif's outstretched leg.

The Hawaiian smiled fondly, petting said head, "'Kay, let you chill a minute and then we'll get going, sound good?" Cinnamon wiggled in response, Grif laughed, "Hey, I bet you're thirsty right? Why don't we get you a drink from the fountain I saw by the little dog clique? I'll hold the button down and you can jump up and have a drink."

Cinnamon gave a big goofy dog grin and woofed.

 

* * *

 

 

          The trip to the grocery store was next.

On the way, Grif noted that Cinnamon looked- more relaxed? Not that he'd looked tensed and upset before, though he did seem to be prone to that in new situations. It was more like he'd dropped a heavy weight that he'd been carrying.

Oh man... This meant that he was going actually have to take him for walks now, didn't it?

Guess having a potty trained dog didn't get you out of that....

Wait, what was he talking about? Cinnamon wasn't his dog, this was only until he found the real owners.

Of course. Obviously.

  
          The dog in question stayed right by his side while they were in the store, never once pulling at the leash. He sniffed at some things and once half hopped up to have a look at a box Grif tossed in the cart, but other than that he just sort of padded along beside him and behaved.

Until they got to the produce section.

  
Or, rather, made to walk past it.

  
          Grif felt a jerk at his wrist, making a confused grunt and looking behind him. A short distance away was Cinnamon, standing still by the entrance to the produce area, looking almost expectantly at him.

"What?"

The dog looked at a display and then back to him, tilting his head in question, a clear 'well? Aren't you going over here?'.

"Nah, dude, I don't need any of that."

The dog huffed, trotting back over, and Grif assumed that was that. Oh boy, was he _wrong_... Cinnamon wedged himself between him and the cart, hopping up enough to give the large man a shove in the stomach with his head, forcing him back a step or two.

"Hey!" Grif squawked, "What are you doing, knock it off!"

  
A couple people turned their heads to stare.

  
The dog grumbled, slapping a paw on the tiled floor and looking pointedly at a fruit display and then back to Grif, and again, and again.

"Are you serious?" Grif grimaced, genuinely annoyed.

Cinnamon huffed at him.

"We are **not** doing this. Not in here."

The dog made a low sound just loud enough for Grif to hear.

...was he...?

"Are you threatening me?!"

Cinnamon made the sound again, a slightly louder but still low, " _Ooooooooo_...." a few people nearby glanced in the direction the sound. A little boy began babbling excitedly about the 'doggy!'.

Oh my god!

"Fine!" Grif hissed, grabbing the cart and turning into the section none too gently, "Jesus!"

  
          After that Cinnamon seemed to lose interest. Well. Not exactly. Just- While Grif was browsing he didn't seem to care, it was only when he tried to walk away without putting anything new in the cart that the dog did anything.

That something being scooting to the front of the cart and hopping up to plop his front paws on it, bulk acting like a wedge and effectively stopping it cold. He stared Grif right in the eye until he turned around.

It wasn't until three apples, a small bunch of bananas, one pack of strawberries, and a large container of pre-made salad later, that the dog allowed him to leave.

Grif was tempted to leave the produce on the checkout counter, but Cinnamon's watchful gaze prevented him. It promised a screaming match that would put the previous day to shame, and Grif may have been stubborn as hell but he wasn't going to risk getting banned from the grocery store.

  
          "You win this round you fluffy asshole..." he growled as they left, all but stomping out onto the sidewalk, "But you get to carry it!" he shoved the plastic bag carrying the produce into the dog's face. Screw what he'd said to Kai! This little shit wanted him to get this so bad? He could bring it home! To his surprise, Cinnamon seemed to accept this and carefully took the plastic handles in his mouth, raising his head up just a little to make sure the bag didn't touch the ground.

Grif gaped at him as the big hound just swished his tail happily, trotting a few steps ahead and turning back to look at him expectantly, feigning innocence with a little head tilt. Yay! Look at me! I'm so helpful! "... You son of a bitch..." the human breathed.

Oh yeah!? Well! Jokes on him! Bananas? Strawberries? Going in a fucking milkshake, tons of ice cream! Too thick to drink through a straw! That salad? Put that shit on tacos! So **many** tacos! And the apples- could... Just go in his lunch... Or something... Throw them at pigeons...?

He wasn't going to eat healthy! Never! Show you, you stupid dog!

 

To be Continued.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully this chapter doesn't feel too meandering, I wanted to give them a nice long day to properly hang out before... stuff...
> 
> In other news I have a Patreon now! www.patreon.com/AlexMakesArt (who doesn't really?) where you can support all the stuff I do all about the web and get some cool stuff for your troubles! :D 
> 
> As always I'd love to know what you guys though! Your feedback is super helpful and gives me creative fuel! If you want to check out my art work or even just say hello, feel free to stop by my tumblr! Here--> http://cc-sketchbook.tumblr.com
> 
> See you guys next time! ~ Much love, CC


	4. Dude where's my Dog?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Sorry," Grif babbled, supporting himself with the edge of the table, footing unsure as the brick turned into a bowling ball, "I um.. I just remembered- I'm supposed to, to, call! Kai! Check up. I forgot!"
> 
> Tucker blinked, "Oh, shit. Yeah call! Make sure she didn't burn down your house..." his eyes widened, "Maybe she's doing shots with your dog!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: NONE! 8D
> 
> As always special shout out to Prim! Thanks for talking shop with me at all hours! X)

 

 

         For Grif, the following week was... Weird?

He'd finished the poster Saturday after they got home. (It didn't need to be terribly complicated after all) took it to be printed on Sunday, made like fifty copies, and spent the day wandering around the city taping them to things. Starting at his apartment and moving outward.

Cinnamon kept pace with him, oddly quiet and almost, contemplative? He did perk up a little when they stopped at the pizza place. The girls took a poster for inside, pinned to the cork-board, surrounded by all the photos from just a couple days ago, (you'd think it was the restaurant's dog.) and one for the window facing the street.

Grif got a personal pizza for lunch and ate it in the park while Cinnamon bounded about in the field like a weird, giant, poofy, carnivorous, gazelle, then slapped a bunch of posters around the park.

After that, they'd finished their journey about the city and went right home, where Grif promptly plopped down on the couch and took a nap. Seriously that was way more walking than he'd ever done ever...

Post-nap was dinner and then they spent the rest of the night watching Star Wars, something that Cinnamon seemed to enjoy. If the sudden bounding in circles around the couch, accompanied by delighted bouncing and barking at the end of the first film (episode four, obviously) meant anything. Or the pause when Grif had jokingly asked if he wanted to watch the next one, followed by a tail wag so intense Cinnamon's whole body had swished back and forth and the hound had practically knocked him over, jumping into his lap to slobber doggy kisses all over his face.

 

* * *

 

On Monday, Cinnamon figured out how to use the shower.

 

          In Grif's opinion, the day had been miserable, and not just because it was Monday. Nothing but rain all day, transitioning into a thunderstorm an hour or so after lunch, when a tremendous flash of lightning had lit up the office like a supernova, echoed a few tense seconds later by a booming loud crash of thunder that plunged the room into darkness.

Donut had shrieked, because of course, he did, a shrill jumble of nonsense that was kind of hard to tell if it was laughter or genuine terror. And, **THAT** set Caboose off, the big idiot calling out Marco Polo style and announcing rather calmly that it was quite dark now. Then Lopez chimed in, shouting at them in Spanish, presumably telling them to shut up. Which only made them yell _louder_.

Right about when Grif was ready for the sweet embrace of death, Sarge popped out of his office bellowing for them to "shut the hell up!" which they did, Donut tittering conspiratorially before fluttering off to do whatever the hell he did... Probably browsing the net on his phone...

Grif was unlucky enough to have Sarge's keen glare find him as he was settling down to nap until the power came back on (no power no computer, no computer no art. Dig?), and that was how, after several bouts of yelling, he ended up in the basement, shining a flashlight over Sarge's shoulder as the old man checked the fuses, nudging tool boxes closer with his foot in lieu of actually giving them to him. Much to said old man's displeasure.

"Dagnab-" Sarge growled, "Grif!"

The heavier man jumped at the shout.

"How's the dog doing?"

Huh?

"Huh?" Grif replied stupidly.

"The dog stupid!" Sarge repeated, popping another fuse out and inspecting it in the light, "How is he holding up? Wrecked your apartment yet? Ate your couch? Bit your lazy _keester_!?"

Grif rolled his eyes, "No. He's fine. Can kind of take care of himself."

Sarge raised an eyebrow at him incredulously.

"Well I mean, I feed him and take him to like parks and shit so he can run around."

Sarge grunted, "Any luck on finding the owner yet?"

"No,"Grif replied with a snort that shook the beam of light, "Posters have only been up since yesterday."

"Yer, not plannin' to take 'im to the pound right?"

"No."

"Good! Fat lot of good it'll do! They keep 'em a week and if no one gets them they put 'em down. Not enough room. Disappointing..."

Grif tried not to dwell on that... He knew, obviously, that that was how the pound worked, he wasn't a kid! It was just depressing to think about.

"He seem lonely? Yer dog?"

"He's not my-" Grif sighed, "I don't know, he's a dog! They're always happy!" though come to think of it... "I guess... He does seem sad sometimes." he found himself saying suddenly, "He's been sleeping where ever I am since I found him. Couch or my bed. I... Think it makes him feel better if I'm nearby. Its only been a few days but sometimes it feels like-" he furrowed his brow, felt like what? Like... Sometimes he almost swore that- Grif shook his head, feeling a little dazed, "He's a good dog. I think he's happy. Seems happy."

Sarge coughed out a laugh, "Well, that's mighty high praise there. Not sure if you deserve it."

Grif scowled, crazy old man.

Despite Sarge's clear hope that it was the fuses, it hadn't been, so they'd had to endure his (sort of entertaining) rant on the phone with the power company, yelling at the automated system, refusing to give any of their information to "Some soulless machine!". A good five minutes went by before he finally got a human and what could have originally been a two-minute process ended up being almost twenty in total with the final verdict being; "Lightning blew a transformer, teams are on it, shouldn't be more than an hour."

Grif spent said hour whining mournfully at his desk because that meant he couldn't just go home.

 

          Needless to say, he wasn't in the best of moods when he did go home. Not like mad or anything (and if he was he certainly wouldn't take it out on Cinnamon) more just sulky.

The thunder and lightning had stopped for the time being but it was still coming down in buckets. He was all but soaked right through. Almost made him want a bath... Almost. Anyhow, it was raining so hard that for a moment he almost didn't notice the sound of running water.

"Ah, shit..." he groaned, was that a faucet? Did he leave one on? No not the kitchen... Bathroom? Oh god don't tell him a pipe broke! That was the last thing he needed!

Dropping his bag on the floor he rushed to the bathroom, pushing the door open hurriedly.

Oh.

Well. That was not what he'd expected...

So... Seated in the tub, ears flattened, head tilted back, eyes closed, was Cinnamon, seemingly enjoying the stream of cold water coming from the shower head.

"Huh..." Grif mumbled, not really knowing what else to say.

The pup perked, looking at him in alarm, hunkering his shoulders down and glancing nervously between the human and the handle for the faucet.

"Oh! Wait, no no! I'm not mad!" Grif quickly tried to assure the dog, "Just surprised..." he moved closer, peering at the handle, "How'd you even turn that on?"

The dog looked at him for a minute, probably didn't understand, obviously, he'd probably been assuming that too often... But... This dog was not stupid, so could he be blamed? A tap from one paw to the other and Cinnamon closed the small gap between himself and the faucet controls. He hopped up a little, bracing himself on the spout for the tub, nudging the shower handle to turn back to the middle and then pushing it down with his chin, shutting the water off.

Grif nodded, okay so he could turn it off, what about on?

Waiting a moment, looking at Grif almost as though he was making sure he was paying attention, Cinnamon pushed his nose under the handle, bopping it until it was raised and the water was gushing from the faucet, nudging it first to the left, then to the right, fiddling until it was on 'cold', he then hopped down, mouthing at the pull on top of the faucet until he'd gotten it between his teeth and pulled it up, the water vanishing and reappearing from the shower head a moment later.

The dog backed up carefully into the spray and sat down again, basking, it would seem, in the cool water.

Furrowing his brow in confusion Grif half laughed, "That's pretty good, buddy. Don't really get why, I mean I'm not a big fan of baths, such a pain... Not like you can soap up either." he sat down on the closed toilet seat to observe the russet hound, "Unless you like swimming or something." he frowned, "Not sure why you'd turn the shower on for that though..."

Cinnamon opened one big eye to look at him and raised a paw to smack the rim of the tub.

Grif snorted, "Nah dude, I don't need a bath, I already got one on the way home. Don't know if you noticed, but its raining cats and you out there."

...oh! Hold up!

"Hey, is that it?" he blurted, dots connecting, "You like being in the rain?"

Cinnamon made a low contented sound.

Grif grinned, "Next best thing huh? Since you can't just go out. Sorry about that." he leaned in a bit, "Pretty smart though, just did something about it yourself."

Cinnamon's waterlogged tail thumped the bottom of the tub in a few wet slaps.

"You are though aren't you? A big smart boy! A real maverick!" Grif teased, barking out a laugh when the now overly excited tail hit the porcelain hard enough to splash him.

"Okay, well I need to go change and not get another bath! Then I'll get us some food. Come out when you're done I guess?"

Cinnamon hopped up to all fours a little too fast, slipping slightly on the tub bottom, scampering to turn the water off. As Grif was about to warn against the inevitable shake, to his surprise, the dog grabbed the edge of the curtain almost daintily between his teeth and pulled it closed the best he could, the thunder of water whaping the plastic and walls following a moment later.

"Huh... Damn you're smart." Grif breathed a when the dog's head, thoroughly cowlicked, peeped out at him.

  
          Later as he dumped a can of food in a bowl, while waiting for his own dinner to warm up; Grif watched Cinnamon roll around happily on the towel laid out for him on the floor, drying himself off and making happy dog sounds -feet kicking the air as he wiggled about- and tried to ignore the little creeping voice, nearly silent in the back of his brain, that wondered if a dog that smart was normal...

 

* * *

 

         Tuesday came and went without preamble.

Grif went to work, bitched about life with Tucker, avoided Donut, staunchly got nothing done, and went home. He had dinner and spent the rest of the night watching Mystery Science Theater with Cinnamon, falling asleep on the couch and waking up the next day, using the dog as a pillow/ stuffed animal.

Oops.

 

* * *

  
  


          Wednesday... Was normal till he got home. Well, until he opened the fridge.

On the top shelf, where he'd shoved the box of premade salad, was, well, a salad. Just not the right salad.

It looked like someone had upended the plastic container into his largest bowl and... Were those strawberries? Yeah, the ones he'd bought were in there, sliced up into thin bits. Looked like they'd cooked some of the crispy chicken strips he'd bought too, sliced them into even smaller bits... Were those almonds? And dried cranberries!? He hadn't bought those! Who had-

The pitter-patter-click of paws brought his attention to Cinnamon coming into the kitchen... With a bottle of dressing in his mouth?

He stared as the dog came over, holding his prize up to him, tail swishing.

The tail slowed when Grif didn't take the bottle, carefully Cinnamon put it down by the human's feet.

When Grif still didn't do more than stare, the wagging stilled entirely, and a soft panting filled the room, a worried whine bubbling up from the now distressed dog. He did his now familiar nervous dance, nudging the bottle closer to Grif's foot.

What the actual-?

Grif clenched his teeth and all but growled, " _Kai_!"

God damn it she'd broken into his apartment again! What?! Did she fuckin' make this weird health thing to mess with him?! Tell Cinnamon to hold on to the bottle??! Give it to him??! Guilt him into eating this thing???!!!

...

......

Well, it worked!

 

  
          "God damn it!" the Hawaiian groused, crouching down to get the bottle, and to pet the worried dog before he freaked out. "Sorry, buddy. Did she chase you around again?"

Cinnamon whined, tucking his head into Grif's stomach, faintly shaking.

"I'm not mad at you buddy, you didn't do anything wrong. She's the one who-"

Cinnamon made a quiet sound, almost like a person about to cry.

Grif frowned, suddenly feeling worse. But... Kai had messed with his food! She'd-

... But... What had she done really? Something semi out of character? Given into an impulse? Seen healthy stuff in his fridge and made it into something? Bought a new bottle of dressing? Coaxed the dog into bringing it to him like a present?

He thought of that weekend. Of Kai coming to him for a shoulder to cry on... How excited she was to see Cinnamon. How they'd actually had fun watching dumb crap...

Grif sighed, "I'm sorry buddy... I'm not mad. Not at you or Kai. I didn't mean to scare you."

Cinnamon snuggled closer and Grif looped his arms around the big shoulders, hoping it would help to calm him down. Fishing his phone out he texted Kai.

  
[If ur gonna keep breaking in, just don't mess up my stuff. Also, salad?]

  
A moment later his phone buzzed.

  
[ **Um... Thanks? U drunk?**  
 **You should you're eating for two!** ]

  
Grif rolled his eyes.

  
[Cinnamon is a dog and you're thinking of pregnancy. ]

[ **Fur baby whatever** ]

[Never say/text that again. Ever.]

[ **Weak** ]

  
In the end, the salad was good. Even with the Italian dressing Cinnamon gave him.

He'd never tell anyone that though if asked he'd say he'd eaten it under tremendous protest, and copious amounts of Blue Cheese dressing.

Dexter Grif did **not** do healthy.

 

* * *

  
  
          Thursday was uneventful. Save for... Well... General office weirdness?

"You should bring Cimmma...Senna-minnnce... Cinnamon! To work with you!" Caboose told him, appearing out of the blue at his desk just as Grif was about to go home.

"Uh..."

"Oh please!" Caboose pleaded -its really weird to see such a bulky guy clutching his hands together like that- "I just wanna meet him! I bet he's nice! We can play! Run around or throw sticks or-"

Grif held up his hands to stop Caboose's rambling, "I uh... Not to work."

"Why not!?" Caboose whined.

"He um... Doesn't work here?"

Caboose wilted, "Oh, that's true..."

"Besides, I think Donut might eat him if I brought him in..."

He was only kind of joking. At the words, "bring to the office" the blonde's head had popped up over the wall of his cubical like some kind of... Groundhog? Well with the artfully messy fluff of hair he looked more like a deranged peacock- but he'd been staring at Grif since then, had he even blinked? And the Hawaiian couldn't decide if it looked more like he wanted to snuggle Cinnamon to death or fight him out back in the parking lot...

When he'd told Caboose no, Donut's head slowly sunk back down out of sight, still staring, still not blinking.

"Can I visit him at your house?"

"Uh... I guess?" Grif blinked, "I'll uh, let you know when...?"

The blonde head popped up again immediately.

_Jesus Christ!_

Caboose cheered and grabbed Grif in a hug...and didn't let go...

"Caboose...? Why are you hugging me? _Still_?"

"To say hello to Simon!"

"Hello?"

"So he can smell me." Caboose whispered conspiratorially, "It is polite!"

Oh...

"Okay then...?"

 

  
          Cinnamon actually did seem to notice it when Grif got home. He paced around him in circles sniffing his hoodie, tail tucked, making little sounds. Kind of grumbly? Puzzled? Concerned?

Whatever it was, Grif ended up just pulling the hoodie off and tossing it on the floor, Cinnamon immediately shoved his face in it.

 

  
...Okay, this was a little weird... All his dishes were done? Was it bad that he was starting to get suspicious of his sister's motives again?

Was she buttering him up for something?

 

  
He turned to look behind him at Cinnamon, who had sort of burrowed under his jacket, even from here he could hear him sniffing audibly, tail still down but no longer tucked, giving a very slight swish. Did like, Caboose have a bunch of dogs or something? Was it really that exciting a smell?

 

  
But... About Kai... Could it be that she was doing all this because she was hoping he'd keep Cinnamon...? Like when they were little; _if I'm really good, if I make everything clean and I do it perfectly, can we keep him?_

If he were being honest... He kind of wished...

Grif shook his head, he wouldn't say anything to her, if she was having trouble she'd tell him, and if this really was about the dog... Best not to make it hurt any more than it had to. When- if? - no, **WHEN** he got the call from the owner, that would be that.

 

* * *

  
  


Friday.

          Friday... Friday he was counting down the hours until he was able to leave (Only three more!) when Donut made an abrupt appearance.

"Hey Griiiiiiiif?" the blonde asked in a sing-song voice, "What cha dooooing?"

Grif blinked at the sudden appearance only a few inches from his face, "Uh...work?" he was not doing work.

"How about after work?"

Uh? "Going home?"

The blonde perked, eyes sparkling. Oh no. "So then you don't have plans!" that wasn't a question!

"Uh-"

"That's great! So you can come with us tonight!"

"Pardon?"

"Oh its going to be great Grif! Real wet and wild!"

"Hold on! I'm not going anywhere!"

Donut's face fell, "You don't want to go drinking with us...?"

Oh no, now he was going to pout... "Just, just back the fuck up! What are you even trying to invite me to?!"

The other man blinked and then giggled, "Oh of course! I almost left you wanting, didn't I? Don't worry, I'll grind us back to the start!"

Oh lord, he was already regretting asking.

"See we just finished a big job! Lots of big beefy beasties, so many tight little holes to breach... It was chaos! But we beat them into submission and came out on top!"

Grif's soul contemplated leaving his body.

"It was such a big job that I convinced Sarge we all deserved a reward! So he agreed we could all leave a little early and go celebrate at one of the clubs downtown!"

Grif narrowed his eyes, "What's the catch?"

His coworker threw a hand to his chest in affront, "Catch? Why would there be a catch!? I'm trying to invite you to a **_party_** Grif!"

"Sorry for not believing that Sarge would willingly pay for us to go drinking."

"Oh!" Donut blinked, "No he's not paying, we are." ah there it was, "He's letting us go early!"

"Do I get it say no to this...?" Grif asked incredulously.

"Well yes, but-" "IF YOU DID I WOULD BE VERY SAD!"

"Hi Caboose." Grif sighed, looking up at the giant shrieking child all but hanging over the wall of the cubical, "You're going too?"

"Yes!" the younger man chirped happily, "All of our friends are going!" his face soured a moment, "Even Tucker..."

Grif leaned back in his chair so he could look at Tucker's wall upside down, "You're going, Tucker?"

"Yup!" came the call from the other side, "You should come too, dude."

"Seriously, you're going drinking, with Donut and Caboose?"

"And maybe Sarge." Tucker, shrugged as his head appeared over the divide, "I'm going to pick up chicks, company is just an excuse to go."

Grif rolled his eyes, "Somewhere to crawl back to and lick your wounds when you get shot down?"

Tucker humphed.

"Well, Carolina said we should!" Donut protested, " _She_ thought it was a good idea!"

"She did?" Grif asked in surprise, "Does that mean she's going?" Carolina was the one who technically owned this company, she'd apparently bailed them out when Sarge had been struggling, he didn't see her terribly often, and when he did she was usually on the phone. She was kind of intimidating, but she wasn't so bad... If she was going that might actually not suck balls...

"Uh huh!" Donut chirped, "At least she said she was going to try!"

Oh, well, maybe then he would? Not like he really had any plans, just movies or something with Cinnamon.

Grif paused in contemplation, brow furrowing, was it okay to leave Cinnamon alone though? Like obviously he did when he went to work but he'd probably be out most of, if not all of, the night.

"Well... I don't know... I gotta feed Cinnamon, don't know how he'll handle being alone all night."

Caboose whimpered, looking to Donut frantically, "But, but our party?"

Shockingly it was Tucker who came to the rescue, "Are you serious dude? You're actually passing up tonight to go feed your _dog_?"

"He's not my-"

Tucker waved him off, "Dude, its a dog, he's going to be fine! Like he'll just be hungry when you get home if you're that worried we'll swing by and feed him, Jesus. Or hell, ask your sister or something, she likes him right?"

"That's true..."

"Grif, if you're making excuses like that, to not go out with friends, then you really need to get out more."

  
          The bastard was right, not that Grif would tell him that, so, in the end, he actually took his advice. He swung by his place to change into something a touch more casual than his already casual work clothes and eat something.

Rule one, don't drink on an empty stomach. Rule two, bar snacks don't count, as tasty as they are, most are really salty and just make you thirstier. He'd get some anyway but he wasn't stupid enough not to know that they were there to make you buy more drinks.

Hardly his first time getting plastered.

He almost changed his mind though when he saw Cinnamon pacing around, periodically a fretful little whine escaped his mouth.

"Hey buddy." he soothed, ruffling the thick fur, letting the dog rub his head against his chest, "I'm gonna go out tonight okay? I'll be back in the morning at the latest." Cinnamon gave a hard exhale. "I'll ask Kai to come hang out with you. You like her right? Or... Well, tolerate her?"

Oddly, he could have sworn that Cinnamon immediately relaxed at that, his tail was wagging slowly now, far less stressed. Well, that was good. Probably just needed the assurance that he wasn't going to leave forever.

 

          That was a thought... Something Grif couldn't help but mull over through dinner and on the train ride to meet up with Tucker. Could it be that Cinnamon **wasn't** lost?

It wasn't impossible... Like, perhaps he'd belonged to someone elderly? Someone who had inevitability passed away? Or perhaps his owner had died in whatever had caused those weird burns on the dog's left side?

Maybe then... Had Cinnamon just been all alone all that time? Only to be cornered and beat up by some shitty person? Or persons? (People? Per- no, persons was right.)

If that was true... Then how much time had to go by until it went from waiting for the owner to just being the owner? Was that something he wanted to do? Would it be okay to do that? Was he qualified to look after the dog? Should he take him to a shelter if he didn't hear back? And when would that be? How long? It was a bit over a week since they'd met, going on two now... Was a month long enough to wait?

 

* * *

  
  


"Man, are you okay?!"

 

          "Huh?" Grif almost jumped as Tucker sort of shoved his face just a few inches from his own, squinting at him incredulously, yelling to be heard over the loud music, "What? No, I'm fine."

"You sure?" The darker man asked, finally moving to a comfortable distance, plopping down on the stool closest to Grif, "You're staring into your drink like someone killed your dog, or canceled your favorite TV show."

"It's not my-" Grif shook his head, looking down at the cup in his hand, glowing with an almost ethereal light, shining up from the color shifting LEDs under the translucent Plexiglass countertop of the bar, "Just thinking, what if Cinnamon's owner never shows up?"

"What?!" Tucker called out over the booming club music, "You can't mumble dude! Spit it out!"

"What do I do if the dog doesn't have an owner!?"

Tucker blinked, "Are you serious?! You're still worrying about the dog!?" he swayed dramatically on his stool, "Dude I thought I told you! We came here so you wouldn't keep freaking out about him!" He grabbed Grif's shoulders and made a point of lightly shaking him, "This is Armonia! It is **_the_** nightclub! Make the most of it! Find someone to dance with and fucking get laid!"

"How much have you had to drink Tucker?" Grif asked eyebrow raised.

The other man huffed and shoved him back on the stool, whipping his head around to scan the crowd with an absurd amount of determination, almost whipping Grif in the face with his braids.

"You like hot guys right?!" He asked with an alarming amount of seriousness, "Guy, Girls, you're like into whatever right?"

Grif nodded, startled into responding honestly, and before he could blink, Tucker was off into the darkness, flashing lights, pounding music, and the pulsing throng of people, vanishing from sight. With a woeful sigh, Grif turned back to the bar, flagging down the tender and ordering a bourbon and lemonade.

He was trying not to worry, he really was, it was just... A weird anxiety, an anxiousness, like he was waiting for something to happen... It had been coming and going for a little while now, along with a feeling like he was being watched. Of course, there was no one there when he turned to look. Well, no one looking at him anyway, there were obviously hordes of people here.

Maybe he'd had too much? Pft bull shit, this was only drink two, be sad if he was already drunk, wasn't even totally dark out yet...

  
          Grif was halfway through his drink when he was hit with an odd urge. He... Kind of wanted to go dance...?

No, not dance specifically, he just wanted to get up and do something. Anything other than sitting here.

He craned his neck, searching the crowd for anyone he knew. Despite what Donut had said, Sarge did not go with them and Carolina never made an appearance. As for the faux blonde and Caboose, he didn't see them. Last time he had... Yeah, that was a while ago now- Donut had ordered some fruit-filled florescent nightmare from the bar and Caboose had gotten a rum and coke without the rum, and they'd gone off into the crowd. He hadn't seen them since.

Tucker was... Still out there somewhere? On whatever weird crusade he'd started... The guy was weirdly obsessed with his sex life. Did he have a crush or some shit? If he did he should just say it so he could shoot him down! Moron...

_Out._

_Want out._

Grif turned to look behind him again. Who...?

_Out out out!_

_Wantoutwantoutwantoutwantoutwantoutwantout!!!_

"Are you waiting for someone?"

Grif whipped back around with an audible inhale, startled, one of the bartenders stared at him in equal shock at his reaction to his question. "Huh?" he asked, like an idiot.

"I'm sorry." the young man replied, Grif made out the name Matthews pinned to his vest, "You just kept looking around, I thought you were waiting for someone."

"Oh... No, well kind of." Grif shook his head, "Came here with some other guys and I was just trying to see if I could see them..." he finished lamely.

"Oh, I see. Would you like me to tell you if I see them?"

"No, it's fine."

"Alright. Is there anything I can get you, Sir?"

Grif frowned, "No I'm goo-"

_Out! Hot. Itchy. Out, rip it out. Want out!_

"Actually," he cleared his throat, looking at what was left of his drink, "Rum and Coke maybe? Something with ice? Feels kind of warm in here."

The tender nodded, moving to get a glass, "It gets pretty warm, yeah, because there's so many people." Matthews paused thoughtfully, "Actually if it's too stifling, you might want to go to the dance floor."

Grif cocked his head.

"People can get overheated really easily and not realize it, so we have a big AC unit right above the dance floor. If you stand near the wall it's actually really cool there." Matthews slid Grif his new drink, running his card while the Hawaiian knocked back the last of his old one, "There's the balcony too, probably not too crowded, but it goes out into the open air so if you need a breather that might be better?"

"Thanks." Grif told him, pocketing his card, passing back the empty glass and taking his new drink, "Probably gonna try that last one actually. If that guy who was here before, black guy, skinny, long hair, lots of braids, probably trying to flirt with any woman in a thirty-foot radius? If he comes back here tell him that's where I am."

The bartender laughed, "Will do sir!" waving goodbye as another tender, (Bite? Biters? He'd served him earlier... Bitters?) glared at Grif over Mathews' shoulder.

Well _okay_ then!

 

          Thankfully, there actually weren't many people out on the deck, and Grif found that he did feel marginally better, less noise, cool air, dim hanging lights, (a fern) easier to handle with his growing buzz. The feeling of eyes on him was gone now too and he felt tension he hadn't realized he'd been carrying leave his shoulders.

He still felt, squirmy? Restless? Just a bit, not as bad as before, just a buzz in the back of his head, like an itch.

Was there something wrong with him? Grif didn't think so... He'd been drinking with Kai just last week. Though, that was at home and not at a nightclub... He'd been to those before though! Not like it was new! Last time was- um... Was...

A while ago actually...

He'd gone out more often in college sometimes with classmates, sometimes alone. After graduating he'd gone less and less now that he thought of it. Eventually, he just started staying home. Less of a hassle that way.

Still... Should he be feeling like this? He'd never had social anxiety before so he couldn't say if that's what this was, he couldn't say it wasn't either. Nothing came to mind far as anything that might have caused it... Was it just the aforementioned gap in going out?

...

Maybe he was having a bad reaction to the alcohol?

Oh god, hope not! That would be such bullshit! How else was he supposed to kill his liver?!

... Blah...

At least the view of the full moon was nice.

 

          "There you are!"

Grif looked up as Tucker skirted around the few groups also on the balcony, making a beeline for his self-pity, fern, corner.

"Man, what are you doing out here?" the darker man pressed, mild annoyance and a touch of possibly genuine worry crinkling his face, "I thought you were gonna wait at the bar?"

Grif shrugged nonchalantly, "Needed some air."

Tucker blinked at him, "Like for real? Are you sick or something?"

"No, least I don't think so." Grif grumbled, "Just didn't wanna be... Like, I don't know, felt kind of cramped."

Tucker hummed in understanding, "It is pretty crowded inside." he half propped himself up on the railing, "Probably start feeling kind of pathetic sitting at the bar by yourself."

"I never said that!" Grif protested in offense.

Tucker waved him off, "Shame though, there was totally a cute guy watching you."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"There was! That's who I went to talk to. I went to get his number for you," Tucker grinned, "which I did. You're welcome."

"Yeah sure okay." Grif rolled his eyes, "I don't know why you care so much about my sex life or why you'd go try to pick someone up for me." he snorted into his glass, "You don't even know if he was my type or not!"

Tucker humphed, "He's as close as you'll find here! Your 'perfect' type doesn't go to bars! Least not this one and definitely not alone."

"Oh? And pray tell, what is my ' _perfect_ ' type?"

"A sad nerd boy."

Grif cocked an eyebrow, incredulously. Oh, do go on, please Tucker, dig that hole.

"Dude it so is your type!" Tucker insisted, "You need someone who's just as opposed to going out as you are but unopposed enough to make you go out in the sun every few days. Someone who'll make sure you eat more than just constant take out and microwaveable dinners! You need a nerd who likes all the same crap that you do, enough that you can argue about it because I know you secretly love to fucking argue. But, they also need to be needy because I know you like having someone need you for shit, but not too much." Tucker crossed his arms and lifted his nose in the air melodramatically, grinning like a bastard, "You, need a cute, sad, nerd!"

Now, Grif had several options for replies. He could, obviously, deny the crap out of it, he could be genuinely impressed by Tucker's observational skills, or, the choice option, he could sidestep committing in any way and accuse Tucker of being a creepy stalker.

Instead! Instead, Grif stared dumbly and blurted out, "That's basically Cinnamon."

Tucker choked on the air, "Y-you want to date your _dog_?!"

"No!" Grif squeaked, feeling his cheeks start to burn, "That's not what I meant at all!" what did you mean then? "I meant-! Like, I don't need a boyfriend or girlfriend! Its stupid to act like I need one to like fulfill my life or some other dumb crap you see in fashion magazines. The fact that a dog can check off all those same boxes just proves it!"

"...Yeah but, you can't have sex with a dog..." his companion groused.

"Not legally..." the Hawaiian shot back flatly, "At least not in the United States."

He hid his grin as Tucker stared, snorted, and burst into laughter. Good, he'd managed to recover from his earlier screwup and regain some control over the conversation. Serious personal conversation deflected! "Speaking of unnecessary social interaction, where are Donut and Caboose?"

Tucker struggled to pull himself back together, "Oh, they're gone, dude. Pretty sure I saw them leaving like a couple hours ago?"

"Are you fucking serious!?" Grif groused, "It was Donut's stupid idea and he already fucked off!?"

Tucker shrugged, "I dun know, maybe he thought we were bored or avoiding him and just bailed? We don't need him though! Come on, let's go do some fucking shots! You're not drunk enough yet right?"

Damn right he wasn't! Three mixed drinks in for an experienced drinker? Pft, water off a duck's...something? Whatever part of a duck was immune to water. Besides, this would undoubtedly improve his mood! Get rid off this circular worrying nonsense churning around in his skull!

 

It very much did not.

  
          They were on... Oh, shit what number? How many shots had they had...?

Grif looked blearily at the little glass in front of him, as though it might know. It did not.

"Hmmm!" Tucker warbled slightly from across from him, "I think we need another round!" he shook his own little glass, the remaining few drops flicking almost violently back and forth. The darker man's eyes lit up and he beamed at Grif, "We! Should get a _bottle_!"

The Hawaiian nodded, then shook his head, "No... Nah they won't let us have one, probably. Prooooobably..."

Tucker frowned, "But we still don't know which of us can hold our liquor better..."

Grif snorted, "Me obviously. Yii're three sheets to the wind. I'm like...One. And a bit more?"

They'd been tossing shots back for... However long it had been. They were both kind of shit faced, or at least still sober enough to know they were drunk? -Five shots! That's how many! And he'd had three drinks before. (Mixed, but whatever. WHATEVER MAN!) So clearly. Clearly. He was the winner!

But... But even with how much they were laughing by now, he was still feeling off... Like... Like he was forgetting something? No. More Han Solo, more ' _I got a bad feeling about this..._ '. Grif frowned uneasily at his shot glass, "Hey Tucker...?" distraction, distraction, "That guy? What did he look like?"

"Knew you'd be interested!"

Grif glared flatly.

"Paaaaarty pooper." his companion sassed back, "He was... Asian? No! Well maybe a little bit? Pale, had freckles I think?" Tucker made an oddly fond face, "Black hair, bleach blonde on top. Very hipster/ skater. Kind of buff? But not like, wall of meat?"

Grif laughed, "You should have gotten his number."

"I did!" Tucker declared shrilly, "I told _yooou_! Why did you forget!?"

"No, for you stupid!"

The other man's eyes lit up, "I should have! No... No, I'm not into- besides it was you he was looking at. He's not into me..."

"Kind of creepy that he was watching me though. Might be some kind of weirdo."

"Nah!" Tucker chattered, "He's like, basically a dork. Well, mostly. He got all nervous when I called him out, gave me his number almost right away." he laughed, the action making his hair swish back and forth as he swayed on his chair, "Totally embarrassed dude. I think he was trying to work up the nerve to talk to you."

Grif shrugged, or tried to, sort of dipped down and jerked back up, "Still creepy."

"Creepy would have been if his friend had been the one sneaking peeks at you."

"His friend?"

"Oh yeah, guy wandered over part way through our conversation. Fucking **huge** man!" arms went wide stretching far as they could, "Like _biiiig_! The guy could probably fight a- fight three- no! Five bears!"

Something settled uncomfortably in Grif stomach like he'd swallowed a brick, "Oh yeah...?"

"Yeah! Tall, tall guy! White as hell, bald, not sure about the eyes... Brown? No... Something. Looked like he'd lost a fight with a lawnmower." he bugged at Grif, "Never thought I'd see Deadpool in real life! _Ugh_!"

Grif was on his feet before he realized, his chair clattering to the floor.

"Jesus dude!" Tucker warbled, "What the fuck!?"

"Sorry," Grif babbled, supporting himself with the edge of the table, footing unsure as the brick turned into a bowling ball, "I um.. I just remembered- I'm supposed to, to, call! Kai! Check up. I forgot!"

Tucker blinked, "Oh, shit. Yeah, call! Make sure she didn't burn down your house..." his eyes widened, "Maybe she's doing shots with your dog!"

Grif managed a shaky laugh, "Yeah... She'd do that if she got bored enough." just chill... Just get his phone and call her up. He was just freaking out because he was drunk and Tucker's stupid story sounded too much like- for real there were literally thousands of people in the city who could match that description. What did it matter anyway? It didn't!

With more difficulty than he'd have liked, Grif finally got his phone out of his pocket, prodding the screen like a confounded caveman until it turned on. Huh... He had texts. From a while ago. Must not have heard the alert over the music.

Probably from Kai...

Probably whining about being bored...

Probably doing shots with the dog...

[ **YO BITCH I'M AT YOUR HOUSE! WHERE THE FUCKS YOUR DOG?** ]

Probably-

[ **CHECKED EVERYWHERE. NO DOGGO. YOU TAKE HIM WITH YOU?** ]

[ **YOU'RE A BUTTHOLE! MAKING ME COME OVER WHEN YOU JUST BROUGHT HIM WITH YOU!** ]

[ **I HAD PLANS! I EVEN PUT MORE FOOD IN HIS STUPID DISH! WAS GONNA WALK HIM AND EVERYTHING!** ]

[ **I'M GOING TO HANG WITH MY PEEPS! YOU OWE ME MAJOR FOR DOING SHOTS WITH YOUR DOG WITHOUT ME!** ]

..oh...

...oh no...

OH NO!

Breath abruptly quickening Grif struggled to shove his phone back in his pocket, spinning around (something his sense of balance strongly protested) looking for the exit.

"Whoa! Hey!" He barely caught Tucker's yell, "Wait! Dude what are you doing!?"

"I-I gotta go!" Grif blurted, "Emergency!"

"What? Hold on! What happened!?" Tucker shouted, pushing up from his seat as Grif raced away through the crowd, "GRIF!"

 

          Grif did not stop and several long moments later he staggered out the door, oblivious to the stares he was getting, confused, worried, annoyed. That wasn't important right now. He had to go, had to get home, something was wrong, very very wrong!

Cinnamon.

What happened? Where was he? Why did it feel like he'd swallowed a box of nails? Like he'd shoved broken glass into his brain?

Grif stumbled to a stop at a corner, catching himself on a light pole, dazedly looking around, realizing blearily that when he'd taken off he'd gone in a random direction and now didn't recognize where he was...

Shit.

Ah, god damn it! Why couldn't he calm down? He had to chill, had to figure out where he was and go straight home.

He looked up and down the intersection, trying to spot anything familiar. A second glance back the way he came had his heart in his throat.

People.

Three.

Two average, wearing hoodies or something, too far to see them properly. The third was dressed similar but... But...

He was huge!

_Run! Have to run!_

Grif held a hand to his swimming head, it wasn't impossible for other people to be out the late at night/early in the morning... Not impossible for people to be really tall.

He was acting crazy, there was no reason to- but they were watching him! Watching at the club, spying on him at the bar! They knew- knew what? Knew who he was- but what did that matter-?

_Hurt, they hurt, they'll hurt and harm and kill- run! Run run RUN!_

The three had picked up the pace and were actively jogging towards him.

 

Grif ran.

 

* * *

 

          He'd never really been one for running, as was probably obvious, but when it came down to it when it was an emergency, Grif could haul ass.

His chest heaved and his legs burned as he ran down the street as fast as he could. Alcohol in his system not really helping him with things like balance and focus and remembering where the fuck he was!

Irrationally, as he tripped and nearly fell, he scrambled into the first alleyway he saw. Maybe that was actually rational? To try and lose them? Wouldn't it make things harder for him too?

Grif tried to puzzle this as he ran down one alley, then another, dipping out into a side road long enough to cross it and go back into another alley.

He tried to keep his drunken brain focused, there were next to no street lights back here, he was fortunate, however, that the moon was out tonight, full to bursting in the cloudless sky, almost bright as day. The shadows were still harsh however and he nearly had several heart attacks when one looked a little too much like a person.

He slowed at the next exit, poking his head out to squint at a nearby street sign, almost clinging to the wall for support. No. No good. The street didn't mean anything to him like he knew the name but it didn't fit into the mental map of his normal route home, the only thing his panic-stricken, booze-addled, brain could parse right now.

"Fuck..." he cursed softly between stiff pants. What should he do?

How do you get home when you're lost? Lost, lost, lost little boy in the biiiig city... Being chased by... By what? Evil... Peeeople? Who wanted...? What?

A nervous giggle bubbled up from his lips. Oh my god, was he seriously, like running from nothing? Bunch of crazy nothing? Like the first time, he'd seen a nutty panhandler on the sub- **subway**!

Subway subway subway! Yes! Subway goes to home! They have maps! He knew his street! He could go home! Yes!

Slowly, Grif prepared to peel himself off of the wall and walk down the main road like a normal person.

The hair on the back of his neck went up and before he could properly process it he'd dropped down and scampered forward like- well like a drunk human crab- shrieking like not a crab and very much like a human (well maybe a bit like a lobster when you throw it in a boiling pot) as an outstretched arm whiffed past his head, fingers closing to snatch and catching only air.

_Fuck! Shit, shit, shitty fucking FUCK!_

He bolted again down the road, finally popping out in a part of the street that actually had some people on it. It was dizzying, everything lit up in neon, too bright and a bitch to focus on. There! Half a block down! The Pokeball-esq light post that wasn't a light post... thing, that marked a staircase into the subway!

Thank you! Thank you thank you! Thank you whoever it was who looked after lost travelers and brought them home, who he was supposed to learn about back in those cultural heritage preservation classes he had to take as a kid but didn't actually pay attention to because he could not give less of a shiiiiiiit! (except when he did) Because, that's who it had to be, not like god God beard man had ever done anything for him.

  
          Somehow he got down the stairs and into the subway proper without falling over himself and eating concrete. He probably looked like a crazy person. Probably was a crazy person. Too many shots... His inability to stop his panicky giggles as he stared at the transit map probably didn't help.

Unless it did?

Finally, after an embarrassingly long time, he staggered his way through the mild crowd and onto, presumably, the right train.

He sighed, leaning against the pole, coolness making him feel a bit more grounded. Bit soberer. Would be a while until he got home, 20 minutes maybe, he'd have to change trains a few stops over but he should be okay. Then he could be home, could go find Cinnamon, make sure he was safe from imaginary evil people.

 

          Grif was about to actually go sit down, given that almost every seat was free and the moving train did not help in any way when movement caught his eye. There in the small window on the door between cars, was a figure in a black hoody.

"Oh come on..." he whispered under his breath.

Oddly they didn't seem to be coming in... Was that because there were other people in the car?

Gingerly Grif let go of the pole, stumbling farther down the car so that the other people in it were between him and the majestic, possibly imaginary, edge lord.

It was sort of fine, except that two stations down the people in the car got up to leave.

Before Grif even had a chance to properly react, the very second they went out the door, the one at the end of the car opened and he heard his stalker's footsteps clanging rhythmically on the train floor.

Grif made less than half a frantic step towards the closing door before jerking back, spotting a gigantic figure in a matching black hoodie making a run for the train across the platform.

_Oh, fuck no!_

Spinning on his heel, the large drunken man instead lunged for the door between cars, mashing the open button and scrambling through just as the train lurched forward, heading for the next station. A frustrated growl sounded from just behind him as well as a strike to the now closed, but soon to be reopened door. Which told him that the figure in the train with him was a woman, and she was right behind him!

He ran through the next car and the one after it, managing to gain some ground on his pursuer when she slowed down to avoid looking suspicious to the couple in the second car. How lucky.

He was not so fortunate on the next car. It was empty, and the connecting door at the end didn't respond when he hit the open button. So he hit it again. And again. And again! Again!

With a desperate, frustrated wail, Grif kicked the shitty slab of metal. Rejoicing when it gave a weird rattling clanging groan and jerkily popped open, sliding with almost comedic slowness the rest of the way.

Then, his luck got worse. Or better? Better?

Better.

Because at that moment several things happened simultaneously, forming a perfect, mathematical, cluster fuck of causality.

First, his pursuer caught up to him. Still running full bore, she snatched the hood on the back of Grif's own jacket, yanking backward, while he was sprinting from a dead stop as fast as he could through the door. At that same moment... The train reached its next stop... And slammed on its breaks.

Grif went backward with a yelp and then forward with a shriek which popped into stereo with help from his assailant as she plowed right into him, he flailed his arms, hand catching a pole who's momentum flung him sideways, spinning him around and pitching him over the seat.

He had a split second view, almost in slow motion, of a sliver of his pursuer's face; a woman, pale, absolute fury in her scowl, and the barest glimpse of blonde - And pink? Magenta? Pink? Pink. - Hair, before his foot, flung up by his fall, entered the shot and slammed into her chin.

Like a fucking cartoon.

Grif lay there, frozen for a long few seconds, staring at the woman, doubled over in the floor clutching her face, shrieking and cursing at the top of her lungs. Breaking out of his stupor and with the limberness that comes from either being drunk, or a fish, or a drunk fish, he flipped off the seat and ran full speed out the door, a muffled, "FUCK! COCK SUCKING SON OF A WHORE! I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU! SON OF A BITCH!", following him out on to the empty terminal.

 

          The next hour or so was a fearful drunken blur. Grif didn't know how many trains he took, getting on one, taking it to a random stop, getting off, getting on another random one. Eyes darting from window to door, scanning the platforms and stations for any sign of the hooded figures.

Nothing.

Finally, finally, he got on a train that would take him home, collapsing into a seat with a sigh of relief, slipping into a half doze until the prerecorded voice on the loudspeaker announced his street.

 

* * *

 

          He'd almost forgotten his initial reason for heading home until he got there. With renewed speed and fear, despite his exhaustion and drunken state, Grif hurried to his door.

"Cinnamon!?" he called out as he opened it, "Buddy?"

Nothing. No tapping of feet, no big waggy tail...

Where? Where would he have gone?

Think... Think! Come on you drunk idiot!

...He... Couldn't get outside the building unless someone opened the door... And no one would just let a random dog out... Right? So... Still inside? Right?

Right.

Please be right.

Slowly Grif wandered down the hall, listening intently for anything, looking hard as he could for any flash of red. Calling him would only get people pissed off...

He found himself stopping suddenly, not wholly sure why...

The basement?

The door was cracked just a little...

Maybe?

...

Slowly, he pushed the door open, softly creaking... Down the steps into the dark room, lit by sickly moonlight from the slim ground level window, the slightest hints of morning red starting to bleed into it.

Somewhere, off in the darkness, there was a scrapping, scratching. A beat of silence. The crunching of something metallic and wooden...

"Cinnamon?" ...his voice sounded kind of shaky.

The scratching stopped, something shifted, sounded kind of heavy...

"Hey, buddy? It's me... Are you down here?"

A shadow moved. No. Not a shadow. A figure. Something big.

Grif's legs froze, unwilling to move backward or forward, breath catching in his throat as the... Thing- got bigger -no! Stood up! It stood up and it was so big! Back? Was that its back?! Up top, its head hunched down, shoulders almost touching the ceiling, a ragged chuffing sound, building towards a growl as it slowly turned towards him.

_Bullshit... This wasn't fucking fair... He'd run the whole way home!_

Eyes like bloody embers locked onto his from out of the darkness, if he couldn't move before he sure as hell couldn't now.

_He'd gotten chased by crazy people!_

The hulk took a slow step towards him, dancing and blurring as his vision swam in a combination of inebriation and the tears he couldn't stop while pathetic, choked, sounds blubbered out of his mouth.

He could smell blood.

Thick and repulsive and rank. And something like freshly dug dirt. Like when they dug mom's grave.

_Like when he lied to Kai and told her she'd run away to join the circus instead of OD'ing in the bathroom..._

The growl grew louder, building into a snarl, how loud it was exactly Grif didn't know, only that it reverberated in his ears and drowned out everything else.

_It wasn't fair..._

The beast took one solid step towards him.

_He just wanted to find his dog..._

Another step.

_He just wanted to make sure he was okay..._

Suddenly, the whole massive hulk of muscle coiled tight and dove at him!

A scream tore its way from Grif's throat and he finally forced his legs to move, staggering backward before his foot slipped and he fell, born to the ground by the monstrosity of fur and fangs, claws and burning eyes. A blood-curdling scream followed the heavyset man into darkness when the back of his head struck the dirt floor...

....

 

* * *

 

_He was being held- no holding. Someone was holding or he was holding... He was crying, breath ragged and hitching, on the edge of hyperventilation._

_The stink of blood stuck fast in his nose. His fingers hurt, nails bloody and raw where he'd torn them on the concrete walls. Arms aching where he'd bit them, panicked and hysterical at his confinement, despite it being voluntary._

_But someone had come down, someone had found him, and he couldn't stop himself, registering only a dim familiarity through the fog choking his brain. He wanted out, wanted to run, to hunt, to rip into something- blood over his claws, his teeth and tongue, chunks of red raw meat, down his gullet until it made him sick- then more and more until all he could find was rent into unrecognizable piles of gore and fetter..._

_The man, this man, his- and he'd nearly... Only the sun had stopped- but all the same, he nearly... He almost..._

_Now all he could do was kneel beside him, clinging pathetically, crying like a child, pleading over and over; I'm sorry- I'm sorry- I'm sorry Grif. I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm-_

  
  


* * *

  
......

...

Grif woke slowly, with an audible groan of pain. His head was killing him.

Eyes clenched against the bright beam of sunlight that, of course, was directly in his eyes... Felt like his brain was trying to make a valiant dash to freedom, straight through his skull...

"Fuck..." he whispered, or thought he did, sounded as loud as a car wreck.

Speaking of sounds, there was a weird scrapping scratching sort of... Cracking? To his left. A quite whining whimpering-

_!!!_

Despite his brain's weeping pleas not to, Grif forced his eyes open, clenching them again and hissing against the wall of white that greeted them. He tried again, with more caution, when something moved to block it.

When his eyes finally focused, they locked on to worried heterochromatic green ones, set on a scared, rust red, face.

"Hey..." Grif started softly, a smile spreading unbidden across his face, "There you are, buddy..."

Cinnamon, whined in distress, hesitating when Grif shakily brought up too heavy arms and held them out. He whined once more before shoving his large head against Grif's sternum so the human's arms could wrap around him.

"I'm sorry buddy..." Grif whispered against his headache, faintly petting the red fluff, "Must have scared you." the animal made a high mournful sound, squirming slightly as he started sniffing at him. Checking him over. Poor fella... "Sorry," he continued, "Didn't mean to leave the door open... Did you try to find me? Get stuck in the basement?" he got a quiet rumble in reply, "Its okay boy. I'm not mad at you... Glad I found you."

Finally, with a strained grunt of pain, Grif hauled himself up into a seated position. Cinnamon backed away, moving to start circling him slowly, sniffing his clothes, face, hair. It really felt like he was being fussed over.

"Hey, I'm okay." he admonished the hound playfully, "I got drunk and freaked myself out. I found you and I'm fine. Just... embarrassed..."

Carefully and unsteadily he slowly pushed himself to his feet, trying not to tumble as the room swayed worryingly for a few seconds. To his surprise Cinnamon scooted up alongside him, leaning against his legs to provide stability.

"Good boy..." Grif quietly praised, starting the long slow trek up the stairs and back to the first floor.

 

          After much grumbling on his part, Grif finally made it to his apartment, unlocking it and staggering inside, making a beeline for the aspirin stashed in the bathroom.

Once he'd thrown a couple back with a glass of water from the sink (man he was thirsty...), he fished his cell out of his pocket.

Yup... Bunch of texts from Kai, was he home? Did he find Cinnamon? And of course, she was on her way.

With a sigh, Grif tapped the call button as he flopped down on the couch, Cinnamon settling down on the floor near his head, still keeping an eye on him it seemed, too bad he couldn't protect him from a nosy sister...

Kai picked up almost immediately.

" ** _FUCKER_**!"

"Love you too Sis..." Grif winced, "Not so loud, fuckin' hurts..."

Kai huffed bit did lower her voice to a more reasonable decibel, " _Did you find him?_ "

"Cinnamon?"

" _No, did you find Jesus. Of course the dog!_ "

"Yeah, I found him." Grif rustled the thick fluff, "He's right here."

The relief was audible in his sister's voice, " _Where was he? He got out right?_ " ah, also worried she'd overreacted and looked like an idiot. Well not that she wasn't one, but-

"Yeah. I don't know, the door must not have shut right or something. Found him in the basement."

" _Huh, must have been looking for you..._ " Kai mused, " _Surprised you could find him if you were as plastered as Tucker said you were. You really sound like shit._ "

Of course.

"Well, I mean I was. Kind of an... Odd night."

" _Like how?_ "

Well now he'd put his foot in his mouth, but he sure as hell wasn't going to tell her about Alcohol-Induced Imaginary Stalkers ™ or Monsters in the basement. So, avoid that with some truth, "Uh well... I sort of... Fell?"

Kai paused, " _What, where?_ "

"Basement, floor 's all dirt, really uneven, so I kind of fell... Hit my head I think?"

" _Oh god damn it!_ " Kai groused like he wasn't always the one looking after her when she did the same shit, " _Did you black out? Do you have a concussion?_ "

Grif groaned, "Dude, I don't know! I guess? I'm fine, took some aspirin and I'm probably gonna nap and eat breakfast."

" _Lunch_ ," Kai corrected, " _and no, I'm like a minute away, we're going to the walk-in clinic._ "

"Kai, its fine, I don't-"

" _Dexter._ " uh oh, baby sister voice, " _If it was me-_ " oh no.

"Kai-"

" _If it was me!_ "

"Fine!" Grif whined, kicking up his legs and letting gravity plop them back on the cushions, "But you have to buy me breakfast!"

" _Fuck you! You're not an invalid, buy your own shit!_ "

"But if it were _yoooou_ -"

Kai scoffed, " _Fine you lard! I'm at your building, get your shit._ "

  
          Grif smirked as she hung up on him, then sighed, "Okay big guy," he said with a groan, rolling a bit onto his side to look at Cinnamon, "You gotta stay here okay? Can't bring dogs into the clinic and something tells me you wouldn't like having to wait outside."

The big animal tilted his head at him, leaning forward and sniffing at his head again.

Grif ruffled his scruff, "Don't worry dude, I'm fine. Worst case, Kai will have to wake me up every couple of hours."

Somehow Cinnamon didn't seem wholly convinced. Maybe it was the way he hopped up on his hind legs to drape his upper body across Grif's chest, wedging his head between his arm and the couch back and whining pathetically.

"You big baby." the human teased, patting the dog's back.

Cinnamon made a sound like a low " _Noooooooooooo_."

"Yes, you are."

"Raw raw raw _waaaaaa_!"

"Nope too late."

"Rooooooooooooo...."

Grif laughed, “Awooooooooo...”

 

          Kai popped into the room unceremoniously about thirty seconds later to find her brother in a weirdly quiet howling contest.

"Quit singing with your weird dog boyfriend and get up." she scolded.

Grif looked up at her flatly, " _Feed_ him."

Her face screwed up in a grimace but she didn't retort with anything other than, "Shoes." before stalking off into the kitchen to get Cinnamon's dish.

Grif clapped the dog's back a couple times, "Okay buddy, go on and eat. I'll be back in a couple hours. Good as new."

Cinnamon hesitated but eventually complied. Probably helped by Kai singing the word "fooooooooood!" from the kitchen.

 

* * *

 

          The trip to the walk-in went exactly as Grif had figured it would. A decent wait in the waiting room, during which the painkillers actually seemed to be kicking in and he went through several cups of water from the nearby cooler. Partially from Kai's sudden mothering and partially from his own common sense, not like he'd never had a hangover before, obviously.

The doctor he eventually saw gave him a once over, one Doctor Gray, an unreasonably chipper and kind of intimidating woman who was far too amused with how he'd hit his head in the first place and that he was also hung over. In the end, though she declared him not concussed but still told Kai to wake him up every hour or so should he take a nap, just in case. She'd also added that should he have a headache, dizziness, blurred vision, or anything else really, to head to the ER right away.

The giddy way she smiled at that gave Grif the creeps...

  
But, that was that life went on; he went home, lounged on the couch, watched dumb shit with Kai, napped, woke up, napped again, had lunch, had dinner, and let Cinnamon fuss over him and sleep by his side.

  
How long was it before a dog went from being found to adopted?

 

* * *

 

          Sunday proceeded about the same. At least until Grif picked up that Cinnamon might not be in the best mood, doing a lot of moping and sighing, flip-flopping between secluding himself somewhere nearby (like under the kitchen table) and plastering himself to Grif's side. This, of course, necessitated a trip to the park, which Grif later realized he hadn't even remembered to complain about so that the dog could get some air and run around in the trees.

That seemed to earn Grif a gift of several pine-cones, a palm-sized shiny rock, and a five inch uprooted tree sapling. The later of which (against all common sense) he actually did bring home, putting it in a pot by the window that had once upon a time held some other kind of plant, (housewarming gift? Probably...) that he'd inevitably forgot about and had long since withered, died, and turned into a pot of dirt.

Well, trees were a little heartier than that right?

They spent the night with Cinnamon in a much better mood, he even did little-hopping laps around the sofa when Grif put on the Blade trilogy and darted back and forth to snatch popcorn out of the air when Grif threw it.

They ended up crashing on the sofa and Grif considered that a good end to a bit of a rocky weekend.

 

* * *

 

         Of course, it couldn't last and like it or not the sun came up and Monday reared its ugly head.

 

Work was... Awkward.

 

  
         Grif dodged questions from Tucker, excusing his sudden bolting from the club as being in response to Kai's text and nothing else. Nothing, nada, and no he didn't get a concussion, no it was not funny that he fell. Like Tucker was one to talk, fucking lush...

The Hawaiian also fielded glares at Donut's head each time he saw the little pink shit. Sauntering around with his nose in the air like he was king of the office. Far as Grif was concerned this was all his fault. If he hadn't gone to their stupid little shindig then Cinnamon never would have never gotten out and Grif wouldn't have had to find him and then he wouldn't have hit his head and hallucinated imaginary stalkers and giant basement demons!

Not to mention a lot of fucking nerve making such a big deal about hanging out and then bailing almost immediately!

Was that petty? Probably. But petty didn't involve much effort and he was master of petty. Second perhaps to Kai, Empress of petty... Actually, he got the feeling that if he were human, Cinnamon could probably be spectacularly petty... Just a hunch.

... Maybe if he glared hard enough Donut's head would explode?

 

          Sarge didn't seem to give a shit, in fact, he'd been uncharacteristically nosy all day. Checking up on Grif constantly, pissing and moaning about every little thing he did.

Bitch bitch bitch bitch bitch!

Tucker probably blabbed about him getting hurt, bet Sarge thought he'd probably try to use it as an excuse to weasel out of work. Well, he was offended! Offended my good sir! To think they would do him this insult of thinking he actually needed an excuse to not do work! Psha!

  
"No! Not that color! Red! I said red! Not that lightish red! RED red!"

"That is red you senile old fart..." Grif grumbled.

"What was that dirtbag!?"

"Senile old fart- _Sir_."

"That's what 'ah thought!" the older man declared with a staggering amount of triumph, switching gears immediately to jab his finger at Grif's screen, "Move that part higher!"

"Its just a decoration, if you move it up they won't be even and it will look terrible!" Grif argued.

"If you mess with things it changes the meaning! Messes with my vision!" Sarge shot back, thumping a fist on the back of Grif's chair as he hovered over him, "Our clients demand a certain level of quality!"

Grif rolled his eyes and moved part of the pattern higher. Not worth it. Wasn't like he cared. It was just that there was only a certain level of' 'shitty' you could get away with concerning things like this. Too shitty and customers would complain or stop calling and then Carolina would bitch and then Sarge would bitch and then he'd have to do it all over and that was just unacceptable.

"That's better!" Sarge barked, "Getting to you have to hold you kids' hands these days! Now about this red-"

  
          Whatever god may or may not have been watching over him decided to give Grif a break and his ringtone blared out into the room.

"What did I say about phone calls in the office!?" the old man bellowed.

"Probably an emergency." Grif replied nonchalantly, noting the 'unknown' number on the screen of his cell. He huffed, hitting 'answer' despite Sarge's griping in the background.

Probably an automated spam call. He'd take it for a second or two of peace.

"Yo."

"Uh okay..." a woman, "Excuse me, is this Dexter Grif?"

"Speaking, what can I do for you?" _please say nothing..._

"Yes, well. I saw your poster..."

Grif felt his chest tighten a little, "Yeah?"

"I- okay, maybe I'm not doing this right..." the woman trailed off awkwardly, "Hello Mr. Grif. My name is Connie, I believe you found my dog?"

...

.....

"Oh, uh... Yeah."

  
  


To be Continued.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not wholly satisfied with the pacing in this one? There might be too much downtime between the climax and cliffhanger... Or maybe not? Idk. Lots of good bits in here though imo! :D
> 
> As always I'd love to know what you guys though! Your feedback is super helpful and gives me creative fuel! If you want to check out my art work or even just say hello, feel free to stop by my tumblr! Here--> http://cc-sketchbook.tumblr.com and if you'd like to support me and get cool shit I'm on Patreon! www.patreon.com/AlexMakesArt 
> 
> See you guys next time! ~ Much love, CC


	5. My Lost Dog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What does that have to do with Cinnamon?" Grif asked, the pit in his stomach he'd been trying to ignore all day feeling far too obvious now.
> 
> "Because from everything you've told me Grif," the old woman put her hand on his knee in a comforting manner, "It sounds like you were already ready to make him part of your home, and it sounds like he'd already accepted you. So be patient, it will hurt, it always does when you don't know what will happen. I'm sure he's probably frightened too, but have a little faith, alright?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: NONE!
> 
> Shout out to Prim for continuing to be a bad influence and letting me pester her!

 

 

"Yo."

_"Uh okay... Excuse me, is this Dexter Grif?"_

"Speaking, what can I do for you?"

_"Yes, well. I saw your poster..."_

Grif felt his chest tighten a little, "Yeah?"

_"I- okay, maybe I'm not doing this right..."_ the woman trailed off awkwardly, _"Hello Mr. Grif. My name is Connie, I believe you found my dog?"_

...

.....

"Oh, uh... Yeah."

_"... Um..."_ She continued, _"So... When can I come get him?"_

Oh.

"Uh well," Grif tried, throat feeling terribly tight, pins and needles prickling all over his scalp, "before that I just need to make sure that he really is your dog."

What was he doing?

_"Oh, yes, I suppose that makes sense."_ Connie seemed surprised, _"What sort of proof do you need?"_

Um... Yeah, what kind of proof? Not like people carried around photo ids or licenses for their pets. A photo would be good but those could be forged, and it wasn't like she could show him over the phone, well maybe she could text them? And who was to say-?

Jesus... What was up with him? He knew this would happen, it was only a matter of time. Had he actually started to hope-?

"What does he look like? Describe him to me." yeah, that was a good one, if she was the owner she'd know more than just that one snapshot on the poster.

_"He's fairly large, red fur, kind of rusty looking."_ Connie immediately replied, quick, snappy, like reading a dossier, _"He has green eyes, left one is partially discolored, there is scaring over that eye and also on his front left and back left legs, all the way down to his paws."_

Oh. Well-

_"He's very intelligent too."_ she continued, _"He can perform a lot of basic tasks on his own, you've probably noticed."_

... She did know Cinnamon, she really was his owner...

"Yeah, that's him alright!" Grif laughed, the sound a bit strained, "Guess he is yours."

Connie laughed, _"Yes, well. When can I pick him up? I'd like to today if I could."_

"Uh, well," When? When? When? When? Weekend- next we- tomor- today- nev- "I was about to go on my lunch break if you've got time we can do it now?"

Just get it over with.

Not like it was his dog anyway.

_"That would be great!"_ the relief was clear in Connie's voice, _"Tell me where to meet you and I'll be there right away!"_

Grif numbly recited his address to her, giving affirmatives and 'no problem's to her myriad of thanks. He felt kind of... Off, when he hit the 'end call' button like he was on autopilot. Like he was just sort of watching from far away as he habitually saved his work and stood up, grabbing his coat and his bag.

No one stopped him when he left. No one said anything either. They might have been staring at him. Five sets of eyes following him out the door. There might have been pity there, but he didn't want it.

Not like it was his dog.

Not like he cared.

 

* * *

 

          He met Connie outside of his subway stop.

She was smaller than he'd expected. Pale, slim, dark brown hair pulled up in an oddly complicated tucked bun for how casually she was dressed. Fitted black jeans, a pastel blouse, brown leather jacket, brown leather knee-high boots, black leather gloves.

She waved to him, a heavy leash jangling in her hand, "Grif?"

"Yup," he replied, shorter than he'd meant to, motioning for her to follow him.

"Thank you for looking after him." Connie said after they'd been walking for a minute, "I don't know how you feel about rewards, but I do want to compensate you for your trouble. Like food or supplies. Or if he damaged any of your belongings."

Grif paused a little, "I- well I don't know..." _there's no way you'd have enough to pay for how I f-_ "I just bought a leash and some dog food. He hasn't damaged anything. He's been really good."

Connie hummed, "That's actually surprising..."

"It is?" the Hawaiian's gaze fell to the leash in her hand, it looked weird, thick leather, a big heavy chain, linked metal collar, a series of smaller leather straps... Was that a muzzle?

Broken glass grated unpleasantly in his skull.

The woman looked a bit grave, "It is honestly. I was going to ask if he'd scratched or bit you, but I think if he had we wouldn't be having this conversation." she looked at him when they stopped at the corner, "I know you noticed how smart he is. Well, he's a service dog."

Grif felt his brows furrow in confusion, but before he could ask the obvious question she waved it off.

"Not that kind of service, I mean military. He's retired now but its like with police dogs, they never really outgrow their training. So they can't just become a pet after. I know you saw his injuries, so you have to realize he's been through a lot."

Grif's stomach churned uncomfortably, feeling nauseous, "Oh... I didn't know... That makes sense..."

But... But, he couldn't shake the unease crawling under his skin...

"What, um, what's his name?" he asked lamely as they reached the front steps of his building.

"In truth, his official name is some numbers." she answered matter-of-factly, "But we called him 'Killer'. He was very good at his job."

Grif almost laughed or threw up, or no-clipped through the floor. Was this reality?! "I've been calling him Cinnamon..."

"Oh." Connie said in surprise, "Well, maybe that was good for him?" she followed him to his door, he tried not to notice the way her hand tightened on the leash, leather on leather, cracking and groaning, "I am extremely relieved that you found him Grif." she said quietly "I truly am. And I'm glad you didn't get hurt."

"Thanks."

Mustering as much false happiness into his voice as he could, Grif unlocked the apartment door and called out, "Hey buddy! I'm home!"

 

  
Nothing.

  
"Cinnamon?"

But...

Too much like the other night, but the door was locked, it was! Kai-? No, not this early, she'd have texted or called or sent him pictures of her delinquency. Plus she almost never remembered to lock the door.

He tried not to act like he was panicking as he hurried inside.

"Buddy?!" he called, not in the living room, bathroom, kitchen, "Where did you go?!"

Connie looked grim, following him to the only room left, his bedroom.

"Cinnamon?"

Oh...

But... But how...?

  
          The window, only one in his room, next to his bed, behind the dresser, was open wide. On the other side, the fire escape.

But...

"He's gone..." Grif said, apropos of nothing. Apropos of the obvious...

"Damn." Connie hissed, like that was just a thing an animal with no thumbs could do. Open a closed and locked window (pretty sure it had been locked, but even if it wasn't-) and climb down a fire escape, and just saunter off.

Yeah, it wasn't very far up, but- But!

  
"Well, we did our best," Connie told him back in the living room. Oh, they were out here now?

She reached into her pocket, pulling out a piece of, well it looked like a business card except it was blank, save for a weird not triangle thing on the back. Fishing out a pen she wrote a phone number on it, signing it 'CT'.

"Here," she said, holding it out to him, Grif dumbly took it, "I don't think he'll come back here, but if he does, call me okay?" she smiled in a way that was probably supposed to be comforting, "Thank you for everything you did. I'm sorry it wasn't as easy as it should have been."

"Yeah."

Then she was gone, out his door, out of the building, down the stairs, already pulling her phone out of her pocket.

 

* * *

 

Grif didn't go back to work that day.

  
          He went back on Tuesday, but did that really count? He didn't remember most of it. He'd sleep like shit the night before, a mess of splintered jumbled not quite nightmares. Like a fever dream, you can't remember once you wake up. But, in the end, he just got up, got on the train, and went on autopilot until he was back home again.

He had a dim recollection of realizing he'd actually finished a bunch of work and handing it off to Sarge. He seemed to remember the old man looking a combination of concern, surprise, and... horror? It was actually pretty hilarious, made him look constipated, but Grif just couldn't make himself care.

So maybe it wasn't too much of a surprise when, on Wednesday, Grif found Carolina waiting for him at his desk.

The faux redhead looked him up and down as he stood awkwardly in front of her.

"Walk with me," she said simply, already heading away without waiting.

Grif hurried to catch up.

  
          She didn't say anything until they'd walked out onto the front step of the building.

"So," Carolina began, "I heard you're having a bit of a rough time?"

"No. I'm fine." Grif automatically replied.

"Mhmm," the older woman hummed, clearly not believing him, "Sarge told me you finished all your work yesterday."

Grif squirmed, "Is that a problem?"

Carolina laughed, leaning back and bracing herself on the railing of the stoop, "Only in that you don't have anything to do now. It's not like you."

Dark skin flushing in embarrassment, Grif looked down at his feet, "So... I'm in trouble?"

His companion scoffed, "No, that would be absurd." he chanced a look at her, Carolina always had an intimidating air about her, even now it felt more like she was looking through him instead of at him, like she was rooting around inside his brain, looking for all his secrets. The feeling was worse because it very much seemed like she was trying to decide something.

"The way I see it." she continued, appearing to have come to a conclusion, "There are two options. One, I send you home until we have more for you to do, which will probably be next week. Con, that means you don't get paid. Pros, you can just sit around and do whatever it is you do at home."

To his surprise, Grif felt a heavy weight settle in his gut. He... didn't want that?

"That could easily be a con too." Carolina mused, "Other option would be I give you other work around here, I'm sure if I let him, Sarge would bury you in busy work. But that's terribly menial, don't you think?"

"I don't know." Grif shrugged, god, this week was just getting worse...

"Or," her voice cut through the growing fog of self-pity, "I could give you something interesting to do." Carolina smiled mischievously, "How would you like to run some deliveries for me?"

"What? But, I don't have a car..."

"Our company has a delivery van." the older woman laughed, "Have you never seen it?"

"I guess not?" Really? Deliveries? How was this supposed to fix- not that he had any problems that needed fixing!

"You like to drive if I remember right," she continued on, and yeah that was true, just because he didn't need a car out here didn't mean he didn't like driving, but why have him do it? "So let's have you try our route today and if you like- well, don't hate it. We'll have you do it until..." Carolina reached over and plucked a leaf from a nearby bush, toying with it as she thought.

For an absurd moment, Grif felt almost like she was looking to it for answers.

"Friday..." she said slowly like she was testing out the word, "Yeah, the whole week would be good. We'll see how things go and maybe we can add you to the driving route permanently? For days you don't have other work?"

That would be the fucking day, wouldn't it?

"Yeah, okay." Grif shrugged, not like he could argue with her...

Carolina chuckled, "I'll get you the list and the keys." she set the leaf on top of his head childishly, "Don't worry about it."

Grif batted the leaf away with a huff, feeling like the butt of a joke he wasn't privy to.

 

* * *

 

          This was stupid.

It really was.

Like driving around ever made anyone feel better. Again, not that he needed to feel better! He was fine! Not upset about anything, least of all a dog that wasn't even his who he had known had an owner who would probably come get it who it turned out to be an ex-military dog or whatever!

See. He was fine.

The whole deliveries thing wasn't terribly exciting anyway. Like she'd said, Carolina had given him the keys and a print out with addresses and box numbers and what was in them and so on and so on and ushered him around the side of the building to the sort of narrow alleyway where the van was.

It was... Dinghy? Was that the word? It was all he could really think to call the poor sad thing. It was black or had been black, its top coat had been worn away by dirt and poor care so that it was more mat now than glossy and just kind of made the paint look more a dark sick green.

It had a rough kind of pathetic looking logo painted on the side. A red and blue that clearly hadn't been primed and were so dark they almost disappeared, and a worn chipped white that spelled out; RvB: Repair, Extermination, Prevention.

A kind of ugly but stubborn decal on the front just above what seemed to be a roll of tow cable proudly displayed the word 'Warthog'.

"Looks more like a Puma."

Carolina looked up from where she'd been checking the back, "What?"

"Nothing," Grif replied, examining a fairly sizeable dent and some mean looking scratches along the inside wall.

  
This van was in no way his spirit animal.

Nope.

Not in the slightest.

 

 

          He didn't enjoy driving it either.

Nope, not at all. The fact he could plug his phone into the dash and play his music from the speakers didn't improve things.

And the permanent polka music that blared out of the speakers if he didn't was in no way kitsch or dumb in a fun way and he didn't let it play for a few minutes when he was in traffic because it made the normally dull situation almost funny for the absurdity of the thing!

There were a total of ten stops to make on the list Carolina gave him and Grif debated for a while on how he wanted to do them. Because really, there had to be a way to do this that minimized effort, he was Dexter Grif after all.

He wasn't going to not do it, tempting though that might be, because Sarge was one thing but Carolina would kill him, but, he could still be lazy!

Guess closest to farthest? He hadn't driven around out here before, again, it was a city, after all, no real reason to even own a car let alone drive it, but he'd get a feel for it so he could get them all done fast as possible next time. Then he'd have all the great of the day to do nothing and get paid for it!

Nice!

 

          First stop was about what he'd expected, a drop off at a small office, refreshers for traps or something probably. He'd dropped the box off with the secretary at the front desk and that was that, in and out, boom, done!

The second was the same thing, just bigger building, snootier too, the guy at the front desk had eyed Grif casual clothes with only slightly hidden disdain, accepting the box like it might bite him.

Snobby ass hat, hope he got bit by a rat!

  
Stop three was in an apartment so was the fourth, first floor, landlord's office, dropping off prevention stuff or whatever. Both had made appointments for a follow-up. Simple, boring, done.

Stop five was an apartment, almost top floor, something Grif was more than happy to ride the elevator to, thanks. Looked kind of posh, probably another snob...

 

          "Oh! Hello!"

Well shit.

Doc, right? Honestly, that was all he'd remembered about him in terms of name. Whatever. The point was the weirdo from the park was here and while normally that would be bad enough this also brought back the sinking feeling that he totally hadn't forgotten because he didn't have it in the first place.

Also, he was apparently fairly well off if this fancy ass apartment and that not cheap looking black silk shirt and fitted slacks meant anything...

"Goodness, small world isn't it?" the faun haired man chirped obnoxiously, "We met at the park a couple weeks ago remember?"

"...Uh-huh..."

"I think I saw you there a few times after that?" he continued, oblivious to just how much Grif did not care. Doc's smile faltered when he tilted his head, clearly trying to look past the temporary delivery man, "Where's your buddy?"

Grif narrowed his eyes, "Why would I bring a _dog_ on deliveries? Why would I even bring him to work?"

Doc's smile died a glorious death, "I, well, I mean. I guess he could watch your back? Its good to have company too isn't? Just you seemed really close so it's just weird..." he lay a hand, unprompted on Grif's arm, "Did something happen? Did he get lost?"

Grif scowled, "Isn't it rude to ask random people shit that's none of your business?" he jerked his elbow out of Doc's hand, hoisting the box, "Like if I asked how you got such a fancy pants apartment."

Doc laughed, a touch of nervous discomfort in the sound, "Just really lucky I guess?"

"How about; what do you need all this poison for?"

Doc flinched in surprise, eyes wide, "Well, uh, for Omega?"

At the sound of the name, Grif heard the clinking of metal on metal and his eye was drawn past Doc, to the dog in question, who'd raised its head up at its owner's call, tags the source of the sound. It was still just as weird as last time. Still pitch black, still oddly big; sitting like an edgy ass shadow of the damned on the perfectly white leather couch in a spotless living room.

"You need poison for your dog?" he asked snidely, ignoring the way Omega slunk soundlessly off the couch and began slowly walking towards them.

"Oh don't be silly! It's for pests! Pesticides for pests!"

"You get rats in this fancy apartment?"

"Bugs!" Doc squeaked as Omega finally made it to the door and nipped at his leg, he got the distinct impression that the Doberman was displeased that the man was barring him from getting past, "You know dogs! They like to try and eat all kinds of things! And bugs are terribly unsanitary!"

Grif rolled his eyes, sure okay. He held the box out a bit more instantly so Doc finally took it. The heavier man, kind of, maybe, couldn't help but possibly notice the edge of what was clearly a bandage peeking out of his 'customer's' sleeve. Yup. Total freak.

Doc smiled helpfully, signing the delivery slip, "Don't worry, I'm sure things will be alright. Fami- I mean pets know where home is. They know where they need to go back to!"

"Oh fuck you, dude!" Grif growled, snatching the slip even as Doc spluttered and stammered out meaningless apologies. Just for the fuck of it, he closed Doc's own door in his face.

He spared it a half a glance before stomping away, catching the muffled protests of Doc scolding Omega, " _... Can't... Promised you stay on the couch... Know you're hungry..._ "

Yeah, a freak alright.

With a huff he stalked back down the hall, eager to get back to the van, nasty mood simmering. 

Wonder if Sarge knew he was selling stuff to a weirdo, asshole, druggie?

Whatever, not his problem.

 

* * *

 

          Grif managed to keep his sour mood through the next three stops. Small business with a snippy owner, weird guy in a shitty apartment who refused to open the door so Grif just slid the slip under the door and left the box and one snobby store with a pissy manager.

That was fine, he kind of liked nursing his simmering sour mood! Better than (not) feeling sad.

  
          Stop nine was a normal sort of place, not shitty but certainly not expensive. After three flights of stairs, he was just itching for one more comment, one more jab, one more asshole with opinions they _had_ to share!

He gave the apartment door a hard rap ready to shove the box at whoever answered. Imagine his surprise when the door swung open and a little voice from below him shouted, "Doggie!"

With a confused blink, Grif hefted the slightly heavy box and looked down.

Beaming up at him was a little girl, couldn't be more than three, Hispanic, with short black hair in a messy fluff, startlingly blue eyes. She peeped at him in curiosity, "Doggie?" she wrinkled her button nose in confusion.

"Maria!" a tired and slightly frantic, mildly accented, voice called, "What did I say about opening the door!?" a woman all but skidded into view a second later, scooping the little girl up off the floor, playfully hoisting her like a sack of potatoes, "I don't know how on earth you even do it...", Maria giggled and trilled in delight. The woman was clearly the girl's mother, like a set of before and after photos, only her eyes were brown, she looked a bit worn out and tired and Grif didn't miss the slight wince at a distant thump followed by the cheers of slightly older boys. Ah, stay at home spouse with more than 2 little terrors... His heart went out to her.

"I'm so sorry Michael, she gets so excited when you-" the woman paused, "Oh! You're not- I'm sorry, he's usually the one who does the deliveries." Mike-? Oh! Caboose!

Grif couldn't stop the smile that spread across his face when Maria sighed dramatically as she hung limply over her mother's shoulder, "No doggie... _baaaaaaa_..."

"Nope, just me. Doggies don't get to drive the van."

Maria giggled.

"Just let me find a place for you to put-" the mother began before a louder thump echoed through the room, her face crumpled for a half second, "I'm sorry, give me just-"

"I can just set it up." Grif interrupted, the sheet said repair so it was some kind of appliance, right? Small enough to carry so it couldn't be that bad. Besides, you know, kids, couldn't leave them alone for long. Learned that quick enough with Kai...

"Oh god, if you could, you'd be such a lifesaver." Mom replied, backing up so he could come in, "It's our microwave, the kitchen is right there, we cleared off the space so you shouldn't have any trouble, I'll be with you in just a moment- oh my goodness I'm so rude I didn't even ask your name."

"It's Grif, and no big deal, its kids, I totally get it." Another thump. "I got this, go save your living room."

Maria's mother shifted her little girl into a proper carrying position and mouthed, 'thank you' before her face became sterner and she bellowed, "Juan, Sean! If you're jumping on that couch Bisabuela Francene is going to have guests up in heaven!"

Oh boy! Said with all the authority of a mom who'd make good on that promise!

  
          What was it about having kids that inspired casual threats of murder? Not in like an actual violence kind of way, (because that shit was 100% fucked and noooo thank you!) like he was sure the lady he'd just met probably had never even spanked her kids even once. But it was like a weird code, you knew full well they weren't serious, but the severity and absurdness of the threat told you just how grounded your ass was going to be when they found you. More extreme it was the less shit you were in. If they only said your name though... if they said your **whole** name...

Grif found the kitchen as easily as she'd said and set about opening the box.

He remembered having a debate once way back in like middle school on what sorts of moms were the-Not scariest? But like would 100% not take any of your shit? It had come down to the Black and Hispanic kids he remembered, (Asian kids just behind, united in their assertion that moms and grandmas were telepathically linked and angering one would summon the other. Other Native kids and White kids (who sulked, because of course, they did) down at the bottom, having nothing past a mom's ability to summon lost objects and manifest dirty dishes.) The 'finalists' each swore up and down that their mothers were like seal team six or some shit. African American moms supposedly came with a built-in lie detector so powerful that it bordered on psychic and knew you'd misbehaved even before you did and Hispanic mom's apparently were born expert snipers and this ability activated the instant they had a child so they could annihilate bad kids from a thousand miles away with a well-placed sandal.

He never recalled seeing anything like that though, and the kids who claimed it, were all clearly still alive, despite having absolutely broken the rules multiple times... Of course, he hadn't been a particularly imaginative child so it was probably his own fault that he took what they said literally...

(That was about when he started to suspect that he didn't have a 'normal' family and thus didn't get to comment.)

Maybe they were just making fun of stereotypes...? Then again, an angry mom sure made you believe she might manifest supernatural powers and smite you... So...

Kind of wished he could snipe someone with a sandal though, so cool...

Maybe he could? Practice, get good aim, bean people at work for funsies. Might be fun, Cinnamon might even fetch them-

Oh... Right.

Well, now he was, maybe, kind of, just a little bit, depressed.

I mean, Cinnamon wasn't his dog, hadn't been his dog, he knew that. But, it maybe had been just a little bit fun?

  
          Grif turned from where he'd been staring at the wall when he felt a determined pat on his leg. Looked like Maria had slipped away from her mother while she was wrangling her siblings. With a grin sported only by the blissfully innocent she held up a little plastic container towards him, popping up on wobbly tippy-toes to offer the fish-shaped cheese crackers inside to him.

"Oh? For me?"

"Yeeeeees." the little girl sing-song, waiting until he took a few crackers before hopping back a little and plopping down to sit on the floor with enough force to make a little "Oof!"

Grif couldn't help but smile, who was he kidding? He was a sucker for little kids. Tiny and toddling and content with watching adults do mundane shit and eating snacks until they passed out.

Lucky little shits.

Grif peered behind where the microwave was supposed to go, searching for a plug.

"No doggie?" the toddler peeped from her vantage point on the floor.

"No, he's not here," Grif replied.

"Sad?"

"Hmm? No, I'll see him when I go back to work. You'll see him next time." Probably.

That got him laughed at, "Noooooooo!" Maria chortled, "Red!"

Grif paused, "Huh?" what was that supposed to-? Oh! There was the outlet!

A little grunt brought his attention back to the toddler in time to watch her finish scooting across the floor on her butt. (Why walk when you can shimmy?) She gave him a very stern look as she papped her little hands on the floor and hoisted herself up.

"'S okay." she informed him, tossing her arms around his closest leg, squeezing tight and pushing her face against his leg, just above the knee, with a grunting, " _Mmmmm_!" to prove just how much hug she was putting into this.

"Thanks, little buddy." Grif, told the tiny girl, carefully ruffling the fragile little head, "Don't worry, I'm okay now."

She didn't look wholly like she believed him but still smiled widely before letting him go and meandering back to get her snack.

"Sorry if she was bothering you." Maria's mother said quietly as she moved from where she'd been watching in the doorway, "She's just at that age, you know?" She scooped up her little girl with a warm smile, "When all the problems in the world can be solved with hugs."

Her daughter beamed at her, nodding enthusiastically.

"Oh, no she wasn't bothering me at all, huh kiddo?"

"Nooooo."

"Exactly," Grif nodded, "I think you're all set, just gotta sign the thing so my boss doesn't eat me."

Mother and child laughed, the little girl making halfhearted playful grabs for the pen while her mother signed. "Thank you so much for your help Grif. It may not seem like much but you saved me a lot of grief."

Grif shrugged, "It was nothing, not even work!" nope not at all. Besides, microwaves were where tasty snacks came from and what sort of monster would he be if he denied this little girl the glory that was pizza bites?!

"Still," Mom told him on the way out, "it was a big help. Everyone at your company is so kind. Our electronics seem to break so often, Senior Sarge doesn't even charge us most of the time." she gave him a warm smile, "Next time you should come with Michael. I think it would make Maria very happy. Won't it?"

Maria nodded enthusiastically, "Yeeeeeees!"

"I'll see what I can do!" Grif promised, not sure if he could take doing a whole route with Caboose, but... Maybe just this house would be okay?

"Say bye bye!" Mom singsonged, waving her own hand as her daughter's smaller one joined in energetically.

"Bye bye bye bye bye! Smile!" Marea's voice followed him down the hall, and Grif found himself feeling, maybe, possibly, just a little bit better.

 

* * *

 

Last stop.

  
          He'd been confused by the address, thinking for a moment he was reading it wrong. But, no, he wasn't, this last place wasn't even in the city! Like... It wasn't a state over or anything, but even if there was no traffic at all it still would have been an almost 30-minute drive.

In the grand scheme of things that might not actually be really far, but when you lived in a place where almost everything was within walking distance... Yeah, it might as well have been a 1,254-mile drive.

But at least it was relaxing? Not the scenery, Grif didn't care about grass and trees, and nature shit, one way or the other. But it was less crowded, less traffic, fewer people, more space between stuff. Which was nice only when you were interested in driving and didn't have to go to one of those places. Take a five-minute walk or two-minute train ride to get to the pizza place over a seven-day quest through the woods where half your party died of dysentery, thanks.

  
The house he eventually pulled up to wasn't terribly big, two stories, semi-faded, semi peeling, buttercup yellow paint, slightly sagging roof, small porch almost swallowed up by ivy and hidden by bushes, and a narrow dirt driveway. No car though...

Huh... So they weren't home? What was he supposed to do then? Other than leaving the box there and just go back. Normally that would be his go-to move but this was for Carolina, not Sarge and he knew better than to make her mad.

Scary.

He looked at the list she'd given him again, yeah, there at the bottom, unless his phone's GPS was fucked up, he was in the right place... Unless she was wrong? The list was printed from a computer but this address was written by hand... A last minute addition?

Hmm...

Okay. He'd try knocking and if no one was there he'd just leave the box on the mat or something. Miss... Miss- how the hell did you even say this name? Whatever. Miss what's her bucket would just have to get it when she got home! This far out in the boonies no one would steal it anyway.

And who would steal pest control shit anyway?

Besides drug addicts! _Besides_!

  
          Feeling only a slight hesitation, the Hawaiian man stepped carefully onto the worn and worryingly creaky deck. Swear to god, if he fell through this stupid old as balls piece of shit- Reaching the door, Grif now faced a new problem, the door itself, the box was too big and heavy to hold in one hand and he sure as shit wasn't going to put it down! Um...

Twisting sideways, Grif hit the doorbell with his elbow, after four unsuccessful attempts. Oh, surprise! Nothing. No sound. Zip.

Well, fuck bunnies...

He'd stood there for several long and awkward seconds when he abruptly headbutted the door with a loud **thud** , by way of knocking, an action that probably would have startled anyone with him, had someone actually been there.

Ow! Whhhhy!? Why did he **doooo** thaaaat!?

_Cuz you're a fucking moron that's why..._

God, he should have just kicked the door! Kick the fucking door Grif!

Unfortunately (or fortunately?) he didn't get to make a further ass of himself. Right when he was pulling back his leg to kick, the rickety old door whined like a pterodactyl eating a corncob, and swung open.

"Yes?"

"Oh, um..." there at the door, was a very tiny and very old woman, like really old! Super old! Older than-

"You're being terribly rude."

"Uh, oh, sorry!" Grif fumbled, trying not to be weirded out by her spectacularly pale and yet spectacularly youthful eyes which seemed to be boring through his head, "It's just uh..." his eyes flicked down, "You have a lot of cats..."

She looked up at him flatly from the literal sea of fluffy mewing bodies, all circling and churning about her like the arms of a galaxy.

"No, I don't."

"But-"

"I only have one cat." she informed him, "These are just strays. They come here because they know I'll feed them and because my yard is a perfect place to sun!"

"They're in your house."

"Oh, I let them in on days when it's going to rain!"

Grif glanced behind him at the nearly cloudless blue sky, "uh, huh... Listen, Miss... Miss, uh... Hue? Hig? H-"

"Oh, you'll never be able to say it. It's a terrible name, basically unpronounceable! Unspeakable even!"

"Okay so then-"

"You can just call me Huggins."

...

"Okay, Miss. Hug-"

" _Just_ Huggins!"

...

"Can I like... Put this down?"

  
          With a high pitched laugh, 'Huggins' lead him inside, parting the tide of cats with a playful shooing motion.

The inside of the house was cluttered with various bits of... Stuff? Like, he didn't care about it being messy, be pretty hypocritical if he did, live that dream grandma! It was just, some of the stuff in here was... Kind of neat? Lady must have traveled a lot at some point? Or maybe her kids or grandkids did?

Oh damn! Someone here was big into sci-fi! Carefully sidestepping some big Egyptian mural-y thing, propped up against some big carved sparkling rock, gave him a good view into a room all but blocked off by clutter. A glint of light and color drew his eye; lined up along the wall, reflecting the sunlight from the window, were several suites of kick ass looking (if really impractical) space armor! It looked like there were probably more but the ones he could see best were a deep dark Red and a lighter golden sort of Orange.

Wow... Those looked super **cool**! What were they from?! What movie? A game? TV show? He'd have to try and look that up later... Hot damn! A full-sized replica!? Bet that was expensive as hell!

"Alright," his hostess called, breaking his internal fanboying- (No way! No fanboying! Gushing over super cool and awesome sci-fi shit was for super ultra nerds of which he was absolutely not one! Nope nope nope!) and bringing his attention back to her, "You can put that down over here!"

Grif hefted the cardboard container high enough to slide it onto the one clear spot on the kitchen table. As soon as he'd done so he made to open it up for the old woman when a massive cat hopped up on top of it.

It was a... Maincoon? Those were the super big ones right? With the little crown or 'M' shape on their heads? Right? Were they white though...? They were usually brown and black and shit weren't they? All striped and mottled? Well, this one had black stripes too but the main color was all white. It sat there like it was king shit of asshole mountain, long fluffy feather tail draped daintily over its paws as it glared at him with all the hate in the universe, a pissy, yowling, growl building up in its gigantic rib cage.

"Atlas..." Huggins called sweetly, "Be nice, he's a guest."

"Yeah, your highness." Grif intoned with a mock bow. The cat exhaled hard from its nose and the growling stopped, he(?) still didn't move though and another cat, smaller, sleeker, with a regal fluffy tail, a deep glossy black, hoped up to sit beside the larger cat, fixing its gem-like green eyes on him in silent judgment.

Okay, well fuck you too, prissy fluff butt.

"Uh... I kind of can't get your stuff out of the box with them on it..."

"Don't worry about that!" Huggins chided, "I have all that well in hand."

"Are you sure? I mean isn't pesticides or whatever like really dangerous and shit?"

"Oh no no!" she waved him off, "No poison in there, just traps and some things for prevention. All sorts of nasties out here in the woods. But I've been handling it for years and I'll do it a right few more I'll have you know!"

"Uh... Okay," Grif conceded, "Sure you don't want me to at least open it so you don't have to?" Atlas hissed at him, "Or I could just leave it alone and not even look at it!"

"Ha!" the old woman chortled, "He's just being protective!" she smiled knowingly, "He probably smells yours, you have a cat right? Dog?"

Grif kicked himself mentally when he flinched despite himself, Huggins hummed in realization.

"You know, you look like you could do with a drink!" she declared, "Glass of water? Cup of coffee? Tea?"

Grif grimaced, "uh, Nah I'm okay-"

"I'm just messing with you!" she cackled, "Come on, have a beer with me, you look like you could use it!" she was already pulling two bottles out of the fridge, "Just one though! You've got a lot of driving to do!"

Oh, well then!

 

* * *

 

          "Hmm... That's rather rough." Huggins said with a nod, once Grif had finished telling her about the last few weeks, "It must be terribly painful."

"No, it's fine," Grif assured her, taking a sip from his bottle, and it was, really, he didn't know why he'd even babbled all of that to her! Just, once he'd started talking about Cinnamon he'd just sort of kept going, in one of those hazy blurs where you suddenly realize you've been talking for twenty minutes? "It's not a big deal. He wasn't even _my_ dog."

Huggins hummed, "Well, Grif, the thing to remember about other animals is that we aren't always the ones who do the choosing. We like to think we do, but when we bring them into our homes and lives they have to decide they want to be there too or it doesn't work!"

She tapped her fingers against the side of her bottle.

"Now take cats for example! Humans always go around assuming that they're just like them, but they aren't! Cats value trust over everything else! They aren't made to be in big groups, they don't make packs, so they want to be in a place where they share with others who are safe. Places and situations that are beneficial. Where their independence is respected."

She pointed her bottle at him.

"Your case is different. You have a pack animal. For them being wanted is everything. Being useful, making you happy! They search for places where they can belong. But that sort of blind faith and trust can be easily abused! They can end up staying with people who hurt them and never try to leave! So for them to run is a serious matter."

Grif wilted. That was true, if some asshole hit a cat, it would probably try to escape, or even fight back, and they'd do it right away. When those same assholes hit a dog the dog would act as though it was all its fault, hiding, pleading its owner's forgiveness. He'd seen it on TV before, it was hard to stomach. It could go on and on for ages before the dog ever tried to escape or defend itself and after that, they'd have a hard time feeling safe with anyone at all, humans, other dogs, didn't matter. But you could still tell they wanted so bad to have a family or friends again. It was terrible...

"Unconditional love sounds sweet at first." Huggins concluded, "But, that means its very easy to take advantage of, even when you don't mean to."

"What does that have to do with Cinnamon?" Grif asked, the pit in his stomach he'd been trying to ignore all day feeling far too obvious now.

"Because from everything you've told me Grif," the old woman put her hand on his knee in a comforting manner, "It sounds like you were already ready to make him part of your home, and it sounds like he'd already accepted you. So be patient, it will hurt, it always does when you don't know what will happen. I'm sure he's probably frightened too, but have a little faith, alright?"

He wanted to say that sounded like bullshit... But for the moment, at least, hearing it made him feel better. Like... Maybe he could believe it? Just for right now?

  
          "Did you know?" the old woman cut in suddenly, "That beer is why we have the stereotypical image of witches?"

Grif snorted into his bottle, "The what now?"

"You heard me! See beer is a fairly weak alcohol, people even used to drink it for breakfast! It was fairly simple to make so you could make it in your own home. So housewives would make it and of course, you'd end up with extras, so they'd go to the market to sell it!"

Grif hummed, "Makes sense." well, of course. Wasn't that long ago that it stopped being considered a women's drink. Was just because it was so simple to make and once you could manufacture it en-mass you needed a bigger audience to sell it to and once he'd met-

Brow furrowing, Grif shook his head, where did that come from? ...Probably one of those things, like trivia at a bar, probably saw once and forgot...

"What about like, hats and brooms and shit?" he challenged Huggins.

" _Psh_ , simple!" she chortled, "Big ol' pointed hat makes it easier to spot you in a crowd! And if you can't leave the house you hang a broom over the door! Easy peasy!"

Grif grinned into the rim of his bottle before tossing the last of it back, "Sure know a lot about it."

"I better! Made what you're drinking!"

Wide eyes stared at her, "Shut up! You did not!"

"I don't fib!"

"Well, shit..." Grif laughed, "Maybe I should become a witch then?"

Huggins gave a full body laugh, "Oh I like you! I think I just might request you to be the one to deliver here from now on! Teach you a thing or two? If you pop out for a social call once and a while I might let you use my equipment." she gave him a side eye, "Can't do this in an apartment. You'll blow your fool head off!"

Grif paled a little, "Noted..." was she telling the truth? ... Did he want to find out?

Huggins hauled herself up out of her rickety old chair, holding out a hand for his empty bottle, "Now, if you want to be home before it rains you need to scoot now." she offered him a smile, "Now, you promise me something, next time you come out here you bring that sweet hound of yours, I'd like to meet him!"

Grif hesitated, but... What if... She seemed so sure that Cinnamon would come back, but... "Okay. Sure, I'll bring him..."

"Good!"

 

* * *

 

So, like, Huggins had to be some kind of wizard or something; because, despite the aforementioned perfectly clear blue sky and the lack of rain in the forecast, by the time Grif had returned to work, dismal looking clouds had begun to gather and the tell-tail scent of a storm was in the air.

Shit. Better book it home before he got caught in it...

Carolina was waiting for him on the front steps, "So, how did it go?" she smiled teasingly, "Enjoy yourself?"

Pausing in his hurry indoors Grif offered her a shrug, "Was fine I guess. Just dropping crap off. Traffic was a bitch."

The faux redhead snorted at him, "Not a single moment of fun?"

Grif raised an eyebrow at her, he could see what she was trying to do, you couldn't fool him! "Nope, not a one." he shifted slowly from one foot to the other, "There is um... Well, there was a little girl looking for Caboose." he added.

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Just figured the next time they're on the list he should go too," oops, "With, Sarge I mean. You know how kids are when they want something."

Carolina laughed, "I really don't but I'll make sure he goes next time."

"Uh huh. Good. Uh, also, that old lady... Huggins? She's... Kind of weird?"

"She's a long time customer," Carolina ventured, "I don't think I've ever seen her home though, you might be the first person here to meet her."

Grif snorted, "Somehow I believe that. But yeah, she's super weird."

"Like bad weird?"

"No. Weird and sort of good, _iiiish_? Weird?" he paused awkwardly, "She wanted me to bring my dog next time..."

"Oh." Carolina's grin faltered, "Look... Don't worry about it okay? Can't do much about it right now, so..."

Ah well, she was trying, counted for something at least, "Yeah, nah, its cool. And uh..." oh man so not good at this feelings stuff, "It wasn't totally hell. A, um... Nice change of pace? Like, driving barely constitutes work even."

His boss' smile returned, now almost unnerving in its uncharacteristic softness, "Good to hear. Tough it out till Friday. If its still, 'not total hell' maybe I'll make you our official driver? Better than having Sarge do it. Honestly, every time he goes out I am genuinely terrified he's going to just bring back a burned out husk of metal and sadness."

Grif choked on a laugh, oh my god! That was a joke, wasn't it? An actual, genuine joke!

"Oh fuck off!" Carolina swatted his shoulder, grin belying her false irritation, "You're not allowed to laugh at me! Go get your shit and go home before it rains!"

"Of course ma'am, sorry ma'am!" Grif mock saluted as he twisted playfully away and darted inside before she could smack him again, her laughter bouncing along behind him.

 

* * *

 

          The rain started coming down almost the minute Grif got home.

It was funny, as he moved about his apartment, chucking laundry in the giant pile by the washer that he'd get to (...Eventually), poking his head in the fridge to see what he could nuke for dinner, he found himself focusing on the fact that it was raining more and more. Like, he couldn't seem to shake that bit of information. There is rain outside. It is raining. It is raining.

Grif, as with most other things, never had any particular opinions about rain. No thoughts one way or the other.

Growing up in a passably shitty house, in a passably shitty neighborhood, in a passably shitty part of an island, where the only forms of entertainment were: TV, video games, the crappy mall (if you could get there), the internet (which wasn't even really viable until midway through high school and only if your dial-up actually worked), beer (if you knew someone with a good fake id or a cashier at a 24 mart who had no more fucks to give, of which Grif himself became for a few years in high school), food (fucking duh); only other thing really was the beach.

Possibly not a surprise, but Grif liked the beach. Well sort of. He liked the beach when there weren't any **people** around, and Honolulu being like the only location in Hawaii that mainlanders could ever be bothered to remember, meant that all the "nice" beaches were out in front of hotels and crammed with tourists.

Like, fun fact, my sweet howlie, precious precious shark bait, Hawaii was made by volcanoes, all that nice smooth sand at Waikiki? Imported. The default was rocks, sharp, black, volcanic **rocks** , maybe a good patch here or there of 'beach' but yeah, that was kind of it. He vaguely recalled some adults in his neighborhood being pissed about hotels bringing in sand, something about it fucking up the environment or something. Was that a thing? It was, right? Sounded right... Not like he'd ever paid attention cuz, you know, why waste energy on a lost cause? But whatever.

Point was, his options growing up had been, the not so big, and frankly pretty sad, public beach like half a block from his house, or wander the closest edges of the island like a dingus looking for 'hidden' beaches.

In total, he had found exactly two and a half. Half, because the last one had had a secret line of sharp volcanic rock hidden in a trench just before the thin strip of sand and he had been quite lucky that the ocean had seen fit only to dash his board to splinters and not his stupid head.

So basically one had to learn to savor the rare times when there weren't many people out on the sand, and to weather the occasional gaggle of tourists who thought they'd discovered a secret special beach just for them and not the property of the neighborhood and they wouldn't fucking _leeeeeeave_!

So when it rained? Meh, whatever. Like 80% of the time you were in the water anyway, oh no! What will I do? I might get water on me! _Psh_...

The only time you really needed to even care was if there was lightning, or tropical storms (oh but those choice waves before it hit? Yes please!) or that really weird year where it hailed and those weird as fuck religious old folks all had like a collective aneurysm?

Yeah, so. No opinion on rain. Just a thing happened.

_Patter patter patter patter pat-_

Grif shook his head, trying to clear it and focus on the task at hand, namely making something to eat. 

Oh! Like these! Frozen chicken wings and jalapeño poppers! Yes, please!

Oven on, food on tray, shoved in oven. Yeeeeeees. Now, the waiting game.

After almost twenty minutes of tortuous waiting, the timer dinged and Grif hastily transferred the mouthwatering morsels to a more or less clean plate, with only mild cursing and slightly burned fingers. Only a handful of seconds later, fastest he was known to move, he was settled on the couch, a plate of goodies, soda, a brainless movie on TV.

_Patter patter patter patter-_

Grif frowned and turned the TV up louder, flopping back on the couch with a huff, reaching blindly for his food, making a satisfied sound as he crunched into a piping hot popper, all gooey cheese and the sweetish hot spiciness of jalapeño. Yuuum!

Could dogs eat poppers? Probably not. Those peppers were really spicy, and doggy bellies couldn't handle that. Too bad, they were really good.

... Ugh, he said he wasn't going to do this...

Try as he might, the heavyset man just couldn't lose himself in what was on the screen. Despite his best efforts his brain just wouldn't turn off, he kept finding himself distracted, ears straining for something.

_Patter patter patter patter patter patter-_

With an irritated huff, he finally sat up, chucking the remote angrily onto the couch as though it had personally offended him. This was so **stupid**! Scowling, he got up, bare feet padding the short distance to the door and the only window, beside the one in his room.

None too gently he yanked the stupid thing open with a slightly concerning _clack_ , the thin screen now all that remained between him and the rising storm. From this angle rain wouldn't get inside, probably, but if it did, who cared? Stupid fucking pain in the ass...

Skulking back to the couch, he plopped back down, resuming his snacking and watching.

Without thinking he turned the volume of the TV down.

_Patter patter patter, **rumble** , patter patter patter..._

_That's better..._

  
          Sometime later, when he'd finished off the last chicken wing, and the movie on TV was winding to a close, Grif settled back against the couch pillow with a contented sigh, lazily pointing the remote at the TV and all but muting it.

Closing his eyes, the brunette began to ponder despite himself. Wonder where he was now? Realistically, only images of sad soaked, cold, dogs came to mind. But, Cinnamon wasn't a normal dog. He liked rain, and storms too, Grif would bet.

He was probably somewhere nice, like out at the park. Just, couldn't envision him being anywhere else. Hiding behind a dumpster? Under a broken awning in a dirty alley? No and no.

Yeah, he'd be in the park. Running around like a loon in the downpour, rolling around in the mud and then standing still to wash it off. Sitting all weirdly serene, eyes closed and face up at the sky like when he'd been in the shower.

Then he'd go lay down under the heavy pines, where the water couldn't get...

Yeah. That's where he'd be, for sure.

 

* * *

 

  _Grif sat under the overhang, the only thing between him and the storm._

_It was doing its job weirdly enough, given how hard it was raining. The rain fell with a clamor, hard enough that it made an almost cracking sound when it hit the wood floor of the lookout. The torrent was so dense that everything in the distance was hidden in a fog-like haze, and across the sky, through the trees, blinding, colorful, arcs of lightning danced between peels of thunder that reverberated in Grif's chest. In his **bones**!_

_"Hey, I uh..." came the voice of his companion, almost lost to the storm as the taller man sat just outside of the cover, drenched by the rain like a moron, "I'm sorry."_

_Grif snorted despite himself, failing to keep his laughter down. For real? Sitting there, saying 'sorry', while looking like the album cover for some white boy emo band, pretending that they had real problems and weren't, in reality, rich little shits who were butthurt that mom and dad wouldn't buy them a Ferrari? Good lord, he couldn't take that seriously!_

_"Sorry for what?" he asked, amusement clear._

_The redhead sighed, a shake of his head sending a slosh of rain to patter on the barely dry floor of the overhang, "I don't know... Everything I guess? I'm trying to do things right but..." his expression became one of frustration, "I don't get you. I can't figure out what you **want**!"_

_Grif eyed his odd companion, who looked embarrassed by his own outburst, hunching down as though to make himself smaller, a bit impossible seeing how stupidly tall he was. Man, he looked almost like he thought he was going to get in trouble, like a dog that thought it was going to get hit._

_Something about that sudden comparison made Grif's stomach twist._

_"Look, dude..." he started, not entirely sure what to say, heart to heart stuff was kind of out of his depth, "I don't want anything from you."_

_The pale man looked up abruptly at him in alarm._

_"Whatever you're thinking, no not like that!" Grif quickly corrected, "But like... You don't need to do anything. Just... Do whatever. Whatever makes you happy, long as it doesn't hurt anyone. That's how I do it."_

_"You're sure?" Simmons asked, despite sounding unconvinced, "You really don't want me to do anything?"_

_"Just shooting the shit and chilling out is enough for me my dude."_

_The drenched redhead seemed puzzled, "You just... Want a companion?"_

_Grif felt his face heat up a bit, "Well, it sounds weird when you say it like that."_

_"Sorry."_

 

* * *

 

          Grif woke up the next day feeling better. Surprisingly so actually.

Like, he didn't feel fine, not fine, fine, anyway. He felt... Hollow? No. Too strong. He felt like the worried, lamenting feeling from before- not to say that he had been feeling that, but if he had- like, it was still there, just held back by a hopeful feeling.

Guess it would be akin to being left alone for the first time? You know your parents are coming home, but the worry about being by yourself is still there?

That's how he'd describe it. If he felt that way.

Which he didn't.

  
          He spent the week more or less just doing deliveries, and it was, all in all, kind of calming. His favorites were stops that were far out, especially outside the city. Not the work part mind you, because when it came to that, the shorter the better. Driving though? That was the good part, long winding road, landscape zipping by, really relaxing. Hell, even getting stuck in traffic had its charm.

Was the sort of thing that might only be improved by having a companion, like how truckers would take a cat with them on long long trips. Was better for your mood and shit, it wasn't good to be all alone for days and days, or something like that...

Cats were probably better on long, long drives, but for trips like these? Maybe a dog would be okay?

...

Stupid to hope.

 

* * *

 

Eventually, the week reached its end and Friday night saw Grif, as with most other nights, crashed on his couch, post junk food dinner, watching TV.

At first, he thought he'd imagined it. But something kept prickling at his ears, finally, after the fifth or sixth time, Grif muted the TV and gave a hard listen.

...

......

... There! Barely audible but he was sure this time of what he heard, a very faint - Shy? Sheepish? Hesitant? Nervous? Ashamed? - _scratch scratch scratch_ at the door.

Cautiously, Grif hauled himself up from the couch, walking slowly towards the sound.

It was stupid to hope. He could easily have imagined it. Try as he might and as nice a distraction this week had been, all his mind had gone back to was-

Grif paused in front of the white slab of fake wood, he raised his hand, then hesitated, putting it down, then up again. This was stupid... But, if he opened the door and there was nothing then... Then what? Then it would hurt more? Would he have to admit that he'd missed-? That he'd wanted him to stay? That it even hurt in the first place?!

Working up the nerve, the heavy man tapped his knuckles on the door, not really hard, just enough that it would be heard by a sensitive pair of ears.

...

......!

He couldn't be imagining this one! Not that loud, insistent, scratching, that whine!

He threw the door open hard enough that it hit the wall with an embarrassingly loud thump, but who cared! Who gave an actual shit! Because there, right there-!

Mismatched green eyes peered up at him from a red rusty face, scar on the left over the eye, on the left legs, the flash of a brighter red scarf around the neck.

"Hey, buddy..." Grif said lamely, throat feeling too tight, eyes irritated. Probably something from outside...

The dog stared at him, Grif stared back, a heavy few seconds of silence.

"So..." Grif started lamely, gaze starting its inevitable slide to the little side table drawer thing where he'd thrown the card Connie had given him.

His brow furrowed in a pained expression, "What am I supposed to do...?" it was pretty obvious, take the card, call Connie, have her come to get her dog. But... "Why did you run away?" as though the dog could answer him... Moron.

Cinnamon made a soft, low, sad, sound, slowly sitting down, head bowing near his feet, eyes still looking up at Grif.

It had been bothering him for a while, "You know... It just doesn't make sense." like for real, if she was his owner then, "She was acting like... I don't know like you had rabies or something..." they'd walked in and he'd already been gone... "Did you-?" was that on purpose?

The idea popped into Grif's head again. The really awful one. The one he'd kept trying to dismiss because it was way too unlikely and probably born from selfishness, and we promised we weren't going to do this-

But...

Gritting his teeth Grif snatched the card off the table, hating how his hand wasn't as steady as it should be. He crouched down defiantly and held the card out for Cinnamon to sniff.

He hated this. All of it. How his legs shook and his eyes hurt and he felt that knot of sickness twisting in his stomach, the fuzzy pressure in his head. The anticipation of the inevitable, dreading how much it would hurt. Just get it over with!

See, Cinnamon was sniffing the card, he'd recognize the scent and then the tail would start and he'd get excited! His owner was near, the lady he loved, the home he'd lost and he'd probably start looking around for her and Grif would dial her number- sorry for the sudden call, probably eating dinner-

He almost jumped when Cinnamon made a shrill fearful whine. Paws scraping anxiously on the floor as he tried to push himself back without standing up. The dog looked up at him with wide eyes, breath coming in faster and more frightened with every inhale. He whined and whined and whimpered like he was on the verge of a panic attack.

"I- you-" Grif balked, thrown in the deep end with a reaction he had not guessed he'd get. Wait- wait! **WAIT**! "Are you _afraid_ of her..?" he whispered.

Cinnamon visibly shook when he moved the card a little closer. Oh my god...

"Did she hurt you?"

The dog continued to shake, licking at his lips and staring up at Grif with naked pleading fear. He looked like he wanted to run, but he was still sitting here...

_Don't make me go._

Grif swallowed hard, this was one of those times you had to make a hard call wasn't? Those things he really hated? Choices?

_Don't make me go, I want to stay. Please... Please..._

Fuck it!

Grif growled, tearing the card in half, and again and again, chucking the fragments away on to the floor like the world's most evil confetti. He dropped fully to his knees, opening his arms wide, glaring even as his eyes stung and spilled. In less than a second, he had his arms full of wiggling, wagging, desperately whining dog, and he hugged him tight.

What the fuck must this even look like? A grown man, on the floor, crying like a little kid and hugging a giant crying dog? Probably stupid as hell. But you know what? Fuck you.

"Better not be fucking with me," he sniffed, "you big fluffy asshole... Cuz, you don't get to change your mind!" he buried his face in the ruff of rusty fur, he could feel Cinnamon sniffing at his head and hair, fussing.

"You're home now. Got it? You're my dog."

_Mine._

 

To be Continued.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! "Cinnamon" has been officially adopted! Only good things can happen now! 
> 
> As always please let me know if there are any grievous errors I've missed or anything that just doesn't sit right! I'd love to know what you guys though! Your feedback is super helpful and gives me creative fuel! If you want to check out my art work or even just say hello, feel free to stop by my tumblr! Here--> http://cc-sketchbook.tumblr.com
> 
> See you guys next time! ~ Much love, CC


	6. Sick as a Dog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wasn't this the part where things got all flowery and saccharine sweet as the girl's heart got all fluttery at the sight of this dude she was just now infatuated with? Writing it like it was love when really they were just going to fu-
> 
> Simmons started with surprise and blinked at him, "Oh... Uh, I didn't expect you to be awake..."
> 
> "Where are my pants?" Grif blurted like a gigantic idiot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: OH BOY! There's a bunch! Character illness, hallucinating, vomiting, descriptions of feeling sick, references to dead/decaying bodies, death, blood, murder. (I think that's all of it but if I missed anything PLEASE tell me so I can put it up here!)
> 
> Thanks as always to Prim for encouraging me to write this and also to Piratelynlyn who has jumped on to the bandwagon of being a bad influence! ;p

 

 

          Grif was having a- well, not a _great_ day, he was at work after all, but a kind of okay day? He'd woken up that morning feeling better. Actually, he'd woken up each day that weekend feeling that way. It was an odd kind of "better", and yes it had to be in quotations like that, it was the kind where you didn't realize you weren't feeling well until you suddenly recovered. 'Least that was the only way he could really think to put it...

He'd been oddly productive too over the weekend. He'd woken up early Saturday morning, which was a bit weird, but he didn't feel too off-put by it, he was motivated! He had a mission!

He'd made his choice last night and much as he wasn't overly fond of making important "life-altering" decisions like that, he did follow through with them once made. At whatever pace deemed necessary mind you, and in this case the sooner the better.

He'd taken time only to throw on some clothes and to eat a pre-breakfast, breakfast, before grabbing Cinnamon's harness and leash.

"Hey buddy." he greeted his, yeah _his_ (suck it!), dog, who looked at him in confusion, "We got a mission today my dude," he shook the leash in indication, "We gotta get all those posters down. Don't need to find a home for someone who isn't lost right?" he couldn't help but grin when Cinnamon's tail started up, forceful enough to shake his rump and he bounded excitedly over to the door.

  
          Grif knew it was gonna take a bit, it had taken most of a day to put the things up after all, but whatever had to be done. Didn't want anyone bugging him again right? Didn't need to be harassed by any random asshole who might see him walking the same dog as on the posters...

It... Wasn't really that bad actually. Aside from all the walking anyway. Walking sucked ass. But, aside from that? It was kind of fun. In a way.

Ripping one of the posters down, shoving the crumpled paper in his messenger bag to be thrown away later, made him feel giddy. Cinnamon's excited bounces and hops, muffled half yips and babble only amplifying it and it took what bit of self-control he had not to whoop with excitement and make himself look like a nut case. To his credit, as an absurdly smart super dog, Cinnamon seemed to catch on really quick to what they were doing and started leading him to posters he'd forgotten. Gently pulling at his sleeve, nudging his leg with his large head, or bouncing and circling until Grif followed him to wherever the stray paper was.

They stopped twice on their adventure. Once so Grif could get a large coffee and some breakfast sandwiches, one of which, an eggy, cheesy, bacony, bagel, he gave to Cinnamon, who wolfed it down eagerly. The second time was to stop for lunch at the pizza place, which had the added bonuses of getting the poster from the inside taken down, and for a mildly stressed and overwhelmed Cinnamon to be fawned over by the staff, delighted to hear that he would now be appearing there regularly.

"I think its really sweet that you adopted him!" Jensen had told Grif cheerfully as she rang him up, "It's so sad to find out he came from a bad home! But you'll take real good care of him, I can tell!"

Grif only felt the smallest bit guilty about his kind of fib. Like _teeeechnically_ , he didn't have proof of Cinnamon being hurt by his old owner and he didn't, like, sign any papers or anything. Know what though? He honestly didn't give a shit! Cinnamon didn't want to go with the person who'd come to get him, he wanted to stay with him, so that's where he'd stay!

So there.

  
          A bit of a hike later they'd arrived at the park, where Grif tore down the last of the posters and took them to the same patch of trees as before so he could eat and the dog could run around. Surprisingly though, Cinnamon didn't. Oh, he wandered off a ways and came back, but he didn't go for a run around like before and when he returned he lay down on the grass and settled his head on Grif's leg.

Grif had smiled, running the hand not preoccupied with pizza through the fur on the dog's head, "Good boy... I'm glad you're home buddy."

Cinnamon sighed contentedly in reply.

 

 

* * *

 

          So here he was back to work on Monday, feeling weirdly okay with life. Something everyone in the office seemed to have picked up on and decided to let him know about in their own unique and annoying ways. I.e. Tucker teased him mercilessly and gave him shit about this being **dog** related and **not** dating related. Donut did similar only in a far more uncomfortable and innuendo-laden manor that Grif really wanted to lock him in the basement for. Lopez rolled his eyes and muttered something in Spanish, which was how he reacted to everything, so... Caboose, being Caboose reacted to happiness the way a fire responds to a shot of vodka being thrown into it, so Grif had to endure excited nonsensical babble about friends and dogs, and survive another bone cracking hug before Caboose finally left him alone. Sarge looked mildly ill or offended, or constipated, or... something, and so Grif went out of his way to bother him; asking questions he didn't really need to, getting water from the cooler next to Sarge's open door more often than needed, just generally flaunting his good mood and reveling in his boss' resulting distress.

Of course, he couldn't get away with that forever, it had only been a matter of time before Sarge snapped and declared that of Grif had so little work to do then he'd just have to give him more! Meh, still worth it.

And that was what lead to the now, with him half-assed and halfheartedly doing busy, nonsense, work for Sarge. Fetch this. Move that. Organize X, Y, Z.

That last one, of course, Grif didn't actually do, he just hung around in the storage room for what seemed like a reasonable amount of time, and then sauntered back to tell Sarge he was done. Old fart probably didn't believe him for a second, but unless he wanted to go downstairs every single time and check his work, then he had no proof that he'd done anything else.

That “anything else” being: surfing the net or playing games on his phone, and, of course, catching a nice catnap or two. Or three.

  
          Seated at his desk, customary giant lunch sub in hand, Grif pondered the rest of his day. Wonder what he should do about dinner tonight...? Did he need to get more food for Cinnamon? He could have sworn he'd only gotten maybe a week's worth of food, but he must have made a mistake in his initial panic because he still wasn't out yet...

Unless someone was getting more food? Mm... If there was then it would be his sister and she'd probably start pestering him by now. Then again she had been messing with his apartment before... You know, he should probably tell her he'd officially adopted the fluffy menace. Would she stop breaking in then? Or would she redouble her efforts "because dog"?

Hmm...

Unless **Cinnamon** was the one buying dog food?

...

...

Grif almost choked on his lunch trying to smother his laughter, drawing a snide and annoyed glare from Lopez.

No, but seriously, let's entertain this absurd idea for a moment. How would that even **work**?!

Like, picture it; this giant ass dog saunters into the store, disappears for a bit and then comes up to the counter with like a basket full of cans of fancy dog chow in his mouth. Cinnamon was tall enough that he could probably put the basket on the counter if he got on his hind legs... But like, then what? Just be hovering there with a wad of bills in his teeth? Oh oh! Or a credit card! With dogs on it to just wrap this stupid image up in a nice neat bow! The guy at the counter would probably have like a stroke, or just stare while Cinnamon swiped his card and punched buttons with his nose or paws... Please sign your name here sir!

Oh my god, that was just too good! _Fuck him running!_ Hahaha!

  
"And just what're you laughin' at?!"

Though in reality, the sudden, barking, question had startled him, Grif screwed his expression into one of casual indifference before turning lazily to look at Sarge, "Nothin'." he drawled.

The older man glared at him, "And what're you doing?"

Grif smirked, "Nothin'," he repeated snidely, "I'm on my lunch break."

"Did ja' finish organizin' the shelves downstairs that I told you to?" Sarge pressed, incredulously.

"Oh yeah. Totally."

"You better hope so!" his boss snarled, thumping a broad hand on the desk for emphasis, "Cuz after yer, break you're gonna be right back down there gettin' the things on this list." a messily scrawled sheet of paper was slapped down on his desk in echo of Sarge's previous outburst.

Grif rolled his eyes and heaved a heavy sigh, "Yup, sure thing, as soon as I'm done with lunch I'll get right on it..." He only managed to get away with another twenty minutes of 'break', one could only stretch the eating of a sandwich for so long unfortunately, and eventually Grif was forced to get up and scamper to the basement door when a roll of masking tape narrowly missed his head and ricocheting off of the divider behind him. The sight of Sarge bouncing another roll, threateningly, in his palm was motivation enough.

  
          With the minimum amount of necessary grumbling, Grif made his way once again down the old warped wooden steps into the musty basement. Truth be told he wasn't a big fan of being down here, reminded him a bit too much of his weird drunken scare from last week, though with the lights on and the sun outside it wasn't that bad.

The space had been partially renovated, the entryway left more or less as it probably always had been. Concrete floor, cracked and crumbly in places, exposed walls of support beams and stone foundation, a lone, sad, bulb the only light save the little dirty, ground level, window, lots of dirt and dust. Surprisingly, no mold or moss, the air was dry and stuffy instead of damp and musty, it was almost, oddly... Not 'pleasant' per say, more nostalgic? Something about the atmosphere made you feel like a kid again, exploring somewhere that maybe you weren't supposed to go. The rest of the space had been sectioned up at some point; via simple plywood and metal sheeting, into storage spaces, closets, whatever, each with an old and semi-faded label denoting what kind of stuff was inside.

Hefting a soul-deep sigh Grif meandered among the doors, searching for the one containing the supplies he needed to fetch. Finding the hollow metal door, he pulled it open with an annoyed grunt, the base scraping at the uneven dirt floor, after some grumbling and whining from both he and it the door was open enough for Grif to wedge himself inside.

Fishing the messily scrawled note out of his pocket Grif peered from it to the shelves around him. Ugh, was Sarge a doctor in another life? More likely a freaky mad scientist-esq surgeon... Either way, his handwriting was nearly illegible, it was only via the many hours of having to decipher previous notes that Grif could make sense of it at all.

... Crap, he needed a box.

Why didn't he bring one down with him?! ... He didn't want to go back upstairs to get one.

Box, box, box, box, box, bo- **ah ha**! That's right! There were some milk crates in the corner, which he'd stacked up earlier when he was down here, **not** organizing the shelves. They made for a good impromptu place to lounge. Ah, good times...

Grif grabbed the least full crate, upending its contents into another nearby one. Good grief, what was half this crap? Random bits of junk, some big ass nails... Or, wait, were those, like, railroad spikes? Jesus! What did they need those for? Sarge was a fucking hoarder, for sure!

Whatever. Crazy old fart.

Plopping the crate carelessly on the dirt floor in front of him, Grif squinted once again at the list and then up along the shelves. So he needed to find... And a few... And then some... Ugh! Where even was this stuff!? There was no rhyme or reason to how any of this was stored! How was he supposed to find anything!? Someone should clean up this-

...Oh, well...

Naps were more important anyway! Not his faulty Sarge let things get so bad down here! Besides, it was all just to punish him anyway because Sarge was an asshole! Not to mention that this was all in service of laziness, sure it would be a pain to find everything, but, point was, it would take time, a good chunk of it, which meant less time afterward to do even more work. See? Worked out in his favor!

_If you say so..._ And he did say so, thank you very much!

Grif stared blankly at the shelves, as though the things he needed to collect might just hop off on their own. Maybe light up like in a video game. Collect ten pieces of random crap! Here's your rusty spoon!

...

_Someone really needs to clean all this up..._

Just not **him** though.

_It would probably take a while but it would be a lot easier if it was all labeled..._

Maybe, but he wasn't going to do it.

_Could color code it to make it even easier?_

... Sarge should hire someone to do that. Cuz like, this shit wasn't his job.

_Oh! There on the left!_

Grif suddenly spotted one of the items in the list, twine, in baseball sized spools, scattered around between mason jars and cans of something or other. Score! He needed... Five? A glance at the list. Yes, five. Okay... Let's see... One, two, Grif dropped the twine haphazardly into the crate, three, four... One shy... Should he hunt more for them? Or was it worth getting yelled at by Sarge...?

...

No, if these were for jobs and they didn't have it and a customer got pissed then Sarge would be pissed and he could lose his job. Hard to be lazy and chill when you were broke and lost your apartment...

So, gotta find one more.

Son of a bitch, where was it? Stupid old man, couldn't even fucking-

_Two rows up, on the left side._

Oh! There was one! Nice!

Grif plopped the last spool into the crate.

Okay, next... Five boxes of nails, specific kind looked like, assuming that was a serial number after the name. So, where were these? Common sense said a big box, but this was Sarge so who even knew. Grif scanned the shelves in irritation, looking for any sort of clue that didn't mean he had to check the numerous unmarked cardboard boxes. Because that would be the biggest bitch and a half. Bet some were filled with rats... Or _bats_!

Ah, damn it! Now he was just freaking himself out! Ugh!

_Two shelves down, right shelf, next to the blue can._

Oh! There it was! Thank fuck!

He pulled the box partially off the shelf, enough to get at what was inside, pulling out one box at a time until he had five, semi-neatly arranged in the crate. Nice! Okay! Next was...

A case of mouse traps.

_Second shelf on the left, inside the red crate._

Five containers of mothballs.

_Right in front of you, bit on the left, glass jars._

Five boxes of baking soda?

_Orange boxes? Or red boxes?_

Hmm... When in doubt just pick for arbitrary reasons! Orange was his favorite color, so, that one.

_One shelf up, on the far left. No, the left! Farther. There!_

Score! There they were! Hopefully the right ones. Probably the right ones. Meh, whatever, it said the right thing on the box so if it wasn't right then it was all on Sarge for not being specific. Like, how was he supposed to know? Go all the way back upstairs and ask? _Psh_ , yeah, sure, okay.

Okay so... Just one more thing, a box of light bulbs. Those were probably for upstairs, one of the lights in the men's room was out he was pretty sure. He said 'pretty sure' because he remembered it being out, the only light that still worked was above the sink which left the couple of stalls in just about total darkness. Now see he could have told someone about it, or gone to get a new bulb and change it himself, but that would take effort, and that wasn't going to happen. Didn't you know anything about him by now? Nope. Instead, he just started using the Women's bathroom, and no that wasn't weird, Carolina was the only woman who worked here and she was almost always out. So really, it was just a bathroom no one was using. So there.

Now, where were they?

Hmm...

_Up top, bit to the left, top shelf, on that big box._

Oh shit, there they were! Grif could see them peeking out from on top of an old beat up cardboard box with no clear label. Cool, last thing! Now he just had to get them...

Should he stand on something? A cursory glance didn't reveal anything that looked particularly useful... Unless he wanted to empty more milk crates. Nope, that was work.

Could he reach them? Yeah. Well, maybe. Just up on tiptoe and reach for them.

Slowly, Grif pushed himself up on his toes, reaching up for the thin box. So close! His fingertips could just brush it! If he could just stretch a little more! He braced a hand on a lower shelf, the metal squeaking as it took his weight. Almost there! His fingers tapped the underside of the container, scooting the bulbs a bit closer. _Allllmost_! The box jumped and tilted slowly downwards. Yes!

Grif grinned, plopping down to his heels catching the thin box expertly in his waiting hand. Fucking flawless! Ha! Shimmying the things in the crate a bit so he could put the bulbs on top, Grif hoisted it up. Good. Now he just had to bring it to Sarge and then he could spend what was left of his day farting around at his desk! Sweet!

He almost didn't catch the groaning squeak as he made to leave. He spun on his heel in time to see a box from the shelf he'd leaned on start to slide. "Oh shit!" he hissed under his breath, milk crate jangling as he hurried to stop the container's magical journey to the floor. He caught it with his hip, trying to push it back up onto the now visibly slanting shelf.

There was a more dire groan above him.

**_GRIF LOOK OUT!_ **

The heavy man jerked at the sound, or, was it a sound? He could have sworn someone had- either way, it startled him enough that he jerked back a couple steps, putting him just out of the way of the long ago mentioned nondescript cardboard box slid off the high shelf and slammed onto the dirt floor with a painful sounding _crunching_ thud, followed by several other containers and items of various size, and Grif was momentarily deafened from the clamor of things of things like metal, glass, wood, and who knew what else impacting the floor!

Grif coughed, nose, mouth, throat, and lungs irritated by the cloud of dirt, dust, and fuck knew what else, kicked up by the crap hitting the floor, "Fucking- god damn- son of-!" he blurted out to no one between hacked breaths. Jesus! What the fuck!? He could have been killed! Maybe! Probably would have hurt like a bitch at least! Shifting the crate in his hands so he could look down without upsetting it, cuz the hell he was doing that again, he looked down at what had fallen.

Box of random electronics, a box or two of probably now shattered light bulbs... Huh, the nondescript cardboard box had apparently been filled with keychains, the cheap photo ones, with what was maybe originally supposed to be the logo for the company? Was that what it was? He didn't recall seeing one before and this was ugly enough for it to have been designed by his idiotic boss. Fridge magnets too. Moron.

"Ah, crap..." Grif wheezed, before snapping his mouth shut and mentally berating himself, even as he scampered for the door, gasping for cleaner air as he hurried up the stairs.

He hadn't registered it at first, the smell wasn't what he'd expected. Everything had still smelled like musty dirt and dust (obviously) but there was a smell too, like... Incense? Like when his sister went through her Wicca phase and hung dried whatever the fuck and flowers all over her room. Like someone upended a spice rack and then threw all their cleaning shit in for good measure. There on the floor, among everything else, were boxes and jars, broken and busted open, their powdery contents burst and blasted into the air.

He didn't need a closer look to know what it had been. He worked for an exterminator after all.

  
          Reaching the top of the stairs in record time and practically bursting through the door, Grif basically chucked the crate onto the first free desk that came into view and rushed into the closest bathroom. Distantly he registered a sound of alarm from Tucker, something like "Dude? What the fuck? Are you okay?!", but getting to the sink was his current top priority! Yanking the faucet on he splashed the miserably cold tap water on his face, scrubbing and whipping at it with his hands, purposefully huffing out of his nose, trying to get rid of anything that might have somehow accidentally gotten inside, hoping it would flush it out of his lungs too.

He tried to tune out his anxious brain, wondering if the tingling was imagined or was it actually itching? Was it chemicals? Were they on his skin? Was this going to be the home economics incident all over again? Hell of a way to find out you were allergic to industrial cleaners...

It's fine. It's fine. It's fine its fine its **fine**! Just thinking too hard about it, freaking himself out. He was fine, just get the stuff off his face, blow his nose, rinse out his mouth if he was that worried. See? Fine.

"Jesus dude. What the fuck was- what happened to you?"

Grif looked up at Tucker, who was staring at him in confusion, then up to the dingy mirror, thankfully visible in the one working light of the men's room. Ugh... He looked like a nut case. His face was all red, or well as red as a person with his complexion could get, from the frantic scrubbing and his initial distress. His hair and his hoodie and the part of his old t-shirt sticking out from the open portion were all dusty. Or well, covered in splotches of kicked up dirt and dust and whatever the fuck. Looked like he'd been attacked with a comically large powder puff. Or whatever the hell those things were called.

With a frustrated grunt he shucked off his hoodie and leaned down over the sink, brushing water over his hair, trying to get the stuff off without fully committing to the sadness that was a sink bath, "Sarge." he grumbled.

"Sarge did that to you? Fucking _when_?!"

Greg huffed, "No his shitty storage did it, and he stored it that way so it's his fault!"

Tucker's eyes narrowed, "Weren't you supposed to be organizing that?"

"Shut up," the heavier man grumbled, "this would have still happened either way. Old bastard doesn't have any common sense," he angrily rubbed at his shirt with a damp paper towel, "you don't store dangerous shit on the top shelf of fucking anything!"

"Hold up!" Tucker squeaked, taking a step back, "Do you mean 'dangerous' as in fucking rat poison or like chemicals and shit?"

"The **fuck** do you think?"

Tucker's face wrinkled again, this time in concentration, "Is that why you smell like potpourri and farts?"

Grif glared flatly at him" "No. I'm trying a new cologne to attract desperate hippies."

The darker man huffed childishly, "Well you'll be fine if you get it all off right? You're not gonna drop dead on me, right? Cuz, like, I'm the only one here right now and that would be really shitty of you!"

Stopping his probably futile efforts to wipe his jeans clean, Grif glared in disbelief, "Are you serious? Where the hell is everyone else?!"

"Job, where else? Must have been pretty big cuz Sarge took everyone, even Caboose!"

"Then what the fuck did I go down there and get all that crap for?! Sure wasn't for my god damn health!" Grif shouted, slamming his fist against the sink top with a damp smack.

Chucking the wad of paper towels in the trash with as much anger as one can while also trying to pick up a hoodie without actually committing to touching it, he stormed out of the bathroom, Tucker practically leaping back out of the way for fear of contamination.

"Wait! Where are you going?!" Tucker chattered, following at a safe distance as Grif stomped over to his desk, snatching up his messenger bag.

"Home. Gotta take a shower and like, I don't know, call poison control or something?" he sulked, "I'm not gonna just sit here for the rest of the day covered in whatever fucking crap fell on me!"

"What about the mess?" Tucker countered weakly.

"Not my problem!" Grif groused, blowing past him and heading for the door, leaving his coworker standing there stupidly. Didn't matter. Not his problem!

 

* * *

 

          Ride home on the train was tenser than it probably needed to be, but Grif wasn't taking any chances on it. The last thing he needed now was to sit too close to like a kid or a pregnant lady, old person, or just like the wrong dude with worse allergies than him and fucking get them sick or give them a seizure or fucking kill them! Or some worse scenario!

Ugh! At least he got to go home early.

He just had to not freak out, be chill. Yeah he got doused in whatever, and that was bad, but he didn't know what it was (which was also bad) so didn't know what to expect, so flipping out wouldn't help. Just gotta pay attention to how he felt, but not too much! Not obsessively! Just like if he couldn't breathe or was itchy, but not like the kind of itchy you get when people mention itching so you hyper-focus on it and itch!

Get home. Take a shower. Chuck his clothes in the washer and actually do a load of laundry. Not a fan of that... But he disliked poison and chemical shit floating around his apartment even more... No allergic reactions for him, thanks!

Fuck, he probably was going to have one... Hopefully not a bad one. He knew what to do. Just weather it. No big deal!

 

* * *

 

          Opening his door while trying not to touch the knob much was awkward. Going to have to wipe that down later just to be safe... God, hated that this shit turned him into a basket case. Hard to break the habit, well taught by previous reactions, especially the first one way back when he was a kid. Being that scared and hurting that bad was a powerful teacher.

Coughing up a mouthful of blood helped too.

He spotted Cinnamon perking up on the couch, where he'd been watching some such something on TV it seemed. His big head titled in the way dog's always did when puzzled or curious about something, as though if they looked at it from a literal new perspective it might make more sense. Then the big tail went up in a leisurely wag and he was hopping up, the excited pitter patter of nails on the floor as he headed over.

"Whoa whoa whoa!" Grif held his hand out in a 'stop!' gesture which Cinnamon instantly obeyed, jerking to a sudden halt and dancing back a few steps, tail slowing and ears flipping back. Grif could see his nose start sniffing at the air, snout bobbing as he caught something, making a worried grumble.

"Yeah, you don't wanna be over here right now." Grif confirmed, "Just hang out, out here okay? Be a good boy?"

Cinnamon licked his lips and shifted anxiously.

"Don't worry buddy," Grif assured him, closing the door and stepping carefully through the messy apartment so he didn't potentially get anything covered in crap. Oh man, he was gonna have to clean all this too, wasn't he? Not just for him but for this poor dog, probably make him sick as, well, a dog. "No big deal buddy, just a bit of an accident at work. I'm gonna get all my shit in the wash and take a shower. 'Kay? I'll be fine."

Somehow telling the dog that made him feel a bit less worried himself.

 

          Over the next handful of... however long it was, Grif was unnaturally busy. First, he tromped to the laundry room; dumped out his bag unceremoniously, laptop, cables, phone charger, phone, wallet, keys and so on landing safely on the hefty pile of dirty clothes that had been on the floor since... Whenever. Then the bag, his hoodie, and every stitch of clothing he had on went in. A cap of non-shitty detergent followed and the machine was soon humming and rumbling with the first load it had done in at least a month.

Next, Grif did a weird scooting dance across the narrow hall into his equally narrow bathroom, trying not to show the whole apartment his ass. He felt a bit dumb at that, no one else lived here save for Cinnamon, and what did a dog care? He walked around naked all the time! Probably be more concerned that Grif had pulled off his 'fur' than anything else.

He took a hot, hot, shower. Washed his hair twice (hair tie in the trash, bye bye little buddy!) scrubbing his body probably a bit too roughly, but better safe than sorry, he considered himself finally clean when he could no longer smell the chemical incense-y whatever.

Feeling less panicky, Grif threw on clean clothes, then began the hunt under the kitchen sink for the single pair of rubber cleaning gloves that he was pretty sure he still had... He'd bought them ages ago for some reason now lost to him. Probably a similar incident... Oh! Right! From when he first moved in and found that the landlord (or previous tenant) had decided to clean the place before he moved in, with heavy chemical cleaners (of course) had nearly thrown up at the smell...

Kai had helped him air the place out and clean all the surfaces. It was the only time he'd cleaned the place.

Guess it was good that he'd kept this stuff...

The clean up itself was mercifully short, only like twenty minutes or so he was pretty sure. Mostly because he didn't go _too_ nuts about it, just whipping down places he'd gone and things he'd touched. Doorknobs, the path to the laundry room, that doorknob, stuff from his bag, washer, and bathroom floor. The shower kind of took care of itself.

  
          Cinnamon watched him from the couch while he worked, raising his head up from his big paws when Grif finally finished and came over.

"Scoot." Grif instructed, which Cinnamon did, actually hopping down and moving to the side so Grif could sit where he wanted, "Good boy." the human praised tiredly, flopping to lay down on the soft cushions. He tossed an arm over his eyes, heaving a deep sigh. Okay, time to take stock... Now that everything was clean, he was clean, and the adrenaline-fueled anxiety could wear off, how did he feel?

His nose and throat felt a bit scratchy and irritated, not a surprise, but he could breathe just fine, there wasn't any sharp pain and he didn't taste copper. His stomach felt okay, a bit unsettled, but in a nerves way, like when an elevator moved down faster than you expected as opposed to an 'I'm gonna hurl' kind of way. Good. He could see fine, eyes didn't hurt. He didn't feel itchy, no stinging or burning on his skin either. Also good. Bit of a headache though... Probably tension.

Okay good. All in all, it seemed he'd avoided anything serious.

Thank god. He didn't want to go to the hospital, never be able to afford that...

  
He turned his head to look at his dog, who'd moved closer to his head and seemed to be inspecting him.

Grif smiled, "'Kay, come on up." he patted his leg for emphasis.

Cinnamon's tail wagged and he didn't so much 'hop up' as much as he loomed and climbed (sort of) over Grif, plopping half on him, half in the seam created by Grif's side and the back of the couch.

"Hey!" the human squawked as the massive animal wiggled on his back, kicking his paws in the air, twisting to bop him under his chin several times with his muzzle.

"Big baby..." Grif sighed affectionately, grunting a bit as he tried to wedge his arm back up from under the dog, managing to loop it around the massive rib cage to scratch at his belly, "I'm okay." he murmured to Cinnamon, the dog responding with another muzzle bop.

Grif felt a kind of tightness in his chest. A bit like how he felt when he comforted Kai, like when they were little and she snuggled up with him after she had a nightmare. It was sort of like that, but also not like that at all... It was... Grif hid his face against the top of Cinnamon's head, feeling his cheeks heat up. Why was saying, hell even thinking, words like 'affection' or 'love' in any kind of context made him feel catastrophically embarrassed? Like, come on! He was supposed to be chill and lazy! Why get stressed out over putting a word to feelings? Ugh! Why did the word feelings come with a nasty undertone like that!?

Stupid complicated bullshit!

He saw Cinnamon's ears flick and fold back, heard the wavering little huff that came with a burst of anxiousness.

"It's okay dude." he muttered against the fluff, scratching behind one big ear, "I'm fine okay? You're fine. We're fine."

Cinnamon settled again with a huff.

Yup, all good, he was fine, and he was gonna take a nap.

 

* * *

 

          Grif was not fine.

He woke up the following morning with the sunshine from the far window perching above him like a crazed ex, driving a knife right between his eyes.

"Fuck!" he blurted, wincing immediately as the sound joined the pounding in his head with a burst of pain from his ears. God fucking fuck... A migraine. "Simmiiin..." he croaked out, a spider web of stinging splinters blossoming in his throat, "Curtains..." that probably didn't make a damn bit of sense. What was the dog even supposed to do?

There was a thunderously quiet clack of nails on the floor coming from somewhere near the kitchen out to the small entryway and then a sort of shuffling sound and then the room fell into darkness.

"G' boy." Grif wheezed, "fuk... Where's phone...?" still not wanting to open his eyes he patted around the table beside the couch with an arm that felt like there was no blood left in it. Where was his phone...?

There was a softer padding, feet on the carpet, trying to be quiet, a delicate scraping clack and then the wet warmth of breath on his hand as something was pushed into it.

"Good boy," Grif whispered as he raised his phone up, daring to crack open his eyes to look at the searing bright screen, typing out a text to Tucker ad fast as he could. It was supposed to say something like:

**[Sick migraine throat back later no work bye]**

Whether it actually said that or was just a jumble of random letters and autocomplete and correct, was a mystery to be solved when he was better. Tucker would do the math.

Or he'd call Grif and the sound of the ring would kill him...

There was a soft whine near his head.

"I'm cool buddy..." he whispered back, a fluffy head carefully sniffed his head over and settled on top of it. The light pressure actually... Felt kind of good, easing some of the pain in his head and blocking out more light. His "Thank you." was lost to him though he felt his mouth form the words, he'd say it properly when he woke up, he was going back to slee-

  
          Grif wasn't sure how much time had gone by when he woke up again. He felt... A bit better? The migraine had settled into a dull headache, his throat felt kind of gummy, he wanted to clear it but didn't want a repeat of that morning... He was kind of thirsty... His gaze fell and focused onto a glass, positioned as close to him on the coffee table as was possible without leaving it in danger of falling off. It was on top of a paper towel. Huh... Where did...?

A slight clatter from the other room had him pushing himself up, groaning and falling against the back of the couch when his head swam. The sound rang out again then transitioned into a hurried scamper, revealing itself to be Cinnamon as his big ass head popped out from behind the wall of the kitchen. He sauntered over and Grif noticed the plastic bottle he held carefully in his teeth. It was deposited in his lap and the human picked it up.

"You got me Aspirin?" Grif wheezed faintly, "Good job recognizing the label and not bringing me like... Shit, I don't know. Can't remember what other crap I have..." trailing off, he struggled with the cap for a moment or two, eventually getting it off and rewarding himself with two tablets. He threw them back with the glass of water, trying to sip slowly but quickly downing the whole thing in almost one go.

Well shit, must have been really thirsty...

He should get another glass. Maybe some food too? His stomach gave an uneasy roll at the idea. Okay... Maybe not food just yet. Wait a little longer? Grif tried to quell the burst of anxiousness in his chest as he lay back down on the couch, reaching for the remote. He didn't like that. Didn't like the idea of being denied food. Not being able to eat it or not having it to eat.

It wasn't like a problem or anything! He wasn't going to pretend like he was sick when he wasn't! He just didn't like the idea, okay?!

With a heavy sigh, he flipped the TV on, turning the volume way, way, down and flipping it to something mindless. A made for TV sci-fi flick, yeah, that would do it. He had the absolute worst luck, didn't he? Having a close call the other day and waking up today with a cold? Or flu or something... Something like that, because it couldn't be the chemicals from yesterday, if it was he'd have had way different and way worse symptoms, not to mention he'd have had them way sooner! After his nap the other day he'd gone about the rest of the evening as normal. Dinner, TV, movie, bed. He'd felt fine and all the minor symptoms he'd had before were completely gone! So it couldn't be that at all, no matter what the anxious voice in his head said...

It was either that the two things just happened to, well, happen, at the same time, or the stress from the very reasonable panic about the very real danger he'd been in had stressed him out enough that now he was sick. Oh well, just meant he'd be home for a day or two or whatever. Then it would be back to work to hear Sarge no doubt throw a fit about how all this was totally his fault and had nothing to do with him putting dangerous shit way up off the ground in the first place.

Might as well enjoy the impromptu vacation while it lasted.

  
          Grif dozed off and on, not really paying attention to the TV, the pictures and faint sound just something to occupy his brain when he wasn't napping. The headache had dulled a little more, probably thanks to the pills, but the dizziness still remained, it made moving too much or too fast a painful experience. So he just lay there, brain hazy, staring at stupid crap on TV, drifting in and out of naps, scattered fragments of dreams blending faintly with the waking world. At one point he jerked awake, at least he must have, he'd lazily opened his eyes and for a moment he could have sworn he saw a pale lightly freckled hand, fingers just brushing the edge of a glass they'd obviously set down, as it moved out of his vision. Grif sat up abruptly eyes clenching shut against the wave of vertigo. When he cracked them open again, there was indeed a glass on the table, but no hand or whoever would be attached to it.

Obviously.

Just him on the couch, TV flickering away in the background, glass on the table, and Cinnamon, sitting resolutely beside it.

Totally normal.

Obviously.

Grif plopped back down, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes, "Fucking fever dream bullshit..." he grumbled, "Don't let me wander around and do dumb shit, 'kay dude?"

Cinnamon warbled in reply and Grif heard him scamper off down the hall.

"Wha-? Duuude..." he whined quietly, "Where are you going...?"

The patter returned a few seconds later, blearily Grif took in the rather comedic image of Cinnamon, head lifted, peering down his snout, holding one of the pillows from Grif's bed out to him. He sat up enough to take it, "What? Bro, I have a pillow already..." he trailed off as Cinnamon darted behind him, snatching the couch pillow he'd been laying on, carrying it away, tail swishing triumphantly before he dropped it on the far end of the couch.

Grif blinked, "Okay... Fair enough." he set the pillow behind him and lay back down. Oh, that actually felt a lot better... In like a, you didn't realize you were uncomfortable before, sort of way.

Cinnamon making a little grunting sound caught his attention and he lazily watched the dog pull on the light blanket he used while sleeping out here, pulling it back over him from where it had been kicked at the other end.

"What are you? My mom?" Grif teased, chuckling when Cinnamon flashed his fangs at him and huffed, pulling the blanket the rest of the way. "Thanks, buddy..." the human trailed off, taking the edge of the fabric from Cinnamon and pulling it up over his head. It smelled like dog. That was kind of a comfort for some reason, Grif found himself thinking, listening to the light pad of Cinnamon's paws as he wandered off farther into the apartment to do whatever it was he did all day.

  
          The next time Grif woke up it was to his stomach grumbling. He still felt about the same as before but it seemed his stomach had finally decided that food was agreeable again. Good. He hadn't eaten all day and that was an issue he was eager to remedy.

Slowly he got up, making the short trek to the kitchen one careful step at a time, bracing himself on the couch and later the wall for support against his still swimming brain. Quickly enough he found Cinnamon by his side, leaning lightly against his hip when he seemed to decide Grif was tilting too far one way.

"Thanks..." Grif croaked, poor guy was probably starving, "Let's get us some food huh?" Cinnamon gave him a happy wag.

Grif had to sit down when he got in the kitchen, overhead light aggravating his eyes and making vertigo worse, unfortunately, he needed it to see in here. Ugh, crap, what was he going to make? Cinnamon regarded him with clear worry, sitting at his feet and looking up at him for a moment before getting up and pacing in small circles. Eventually, though, he started sniffing at cabinets, first lower ones then hopping up onto his hind legs, feet on the countertop to balance as he checked out the higher ones.

Grif probably should have shooed him down, but his sick brain was currently enraptured by how flipping tall his dog was. Like he already knew, but it was easy to forget when the guy was on all fours all the time.

Big Doggie.

_Biiiiiiig..._

"Huh?" Grif mumbled in surprise when Cinnamon appeared in front of him again, offering up a large can in his jaws. Oh... Soup? "For me?" he asked stupidly.

Cinnamon padded his front paws back and forth. Ah, so yes then.

"Go get... Um... The thing..." Grif rubbed his face, "Shit. Get your stuff. Bowl. I gotta get the can thingy." brain no worky, call back later, k thanks!

Cinnamon did, in fact, bring him his dish, and then a can of his food, lastly he paced about the drawers, peeking inside and finally bringing back a can opener in his teeth. Grif reached for the dog food but stopped at an annoyed not quite bark. He had the weirdest feeling that Cinnamon was trying to be quiet. He still jumped though.

"What?"

Cinnamon slapped a paw on the floor and looked pointedly at the soup can.

Grif blinked slowly, "...Oh... Okay. Me first?" the dog slapped his paw again. Taking that as a yes then...

Taking a moment to gather his strength Grif eventually hauled himself up and staggered over to the counter, checking the cabinets. "Need a bowl..." he murmured, chuckling softly shortly after when Cinnamon whined sadly, "Don't worry about it my doggy dude... You couldn't get it," he held up the ceramic bowl he'd found and wiggled it slightly in the air, "you don't have thumbs." Slowly he staggered back to the table, sitting down again, and closing his eyes a moment to get his focus back, "Bet if you did you'd make all this yourself... You'd be making just as much of a fuss as now, but with thumbs..." Cinnamon cocked his head. Well whatever, he thought it was funny.

It took him longer than he'd care to admit to get the can open, the bloodless feeling was back in his arms and legs and seemed to have moved to his hands too. Stupid flu cold... He did get a good enough grip eventually and got both cans open (nearly dumped the dog food into the soup bowl) and got his food in the microwave.

He brought it all out to the couch (almost putting the soup on the floor and the dog dish in front of himself...) plopping down and trying to get comfortable. He propped himself up against the couch back, pulling his knees up near to his chest and sort of hugging the bowl, a picturesque example of 'miserable sick person watching TV'. 5'11" x 'wide', medium; fat, sadness, cotton fiber, sort of okay chicken soup, at least 40% snot, 20% headache; made in 198- **shit**... he forgot to get a spoon...

Grif whined unhappily, he didn't want to get back up! Fuck it! Stupid spoon! He'd just drink the soup! He'd-! The heavyset man blinked groggily at the dog suddenly in front of him. Specifically, at the spoon, he held carefully in his teeth.

Oh...

"Thanks, buddy..." Grif mumbled, feeling oddly silly, taking the offered utensil, and curling back up around his bowl. Huh... Smart dog... Weird dog, but still smart... "Good boy," he muttered around careful mouthfuls of soup.

Cinnamon puffed his chest out in pride.

Weird dog.

 

* * *

 

          Grif snapped awake, sudden and abrupt, confused and startled. He had no clue what time it was, really late if the darkness outside his window meant anything. Or, maybe really early? That wasn't really the big question though. The important one was, why did he wake up? Was it like a weird noise or-?

_Uh oh..._

Jerking up, Grif all but rolled off the couch, scrambling to his feet. He bolted, staggering and swaying, almost stepping on Cinnamon, who made a sound as he ran past. Well, tried to run. More a frantic hobble than anything else, leaning hard on the wall and gripping it for support. A prickling heat skittered up the back of his skull and he frantically threw himself at the bathroom door, racing against time, and the spike of pain jammed into his abdomen, the acid burn in the back of his throat. He made it to the toilet just in time as his stomach rolled, heaved, and gave up on what little food he'd eaten.

  
          An unknown time later found Grif slumped against the bathroom wall, leaning his head against the cool tile. He'd finally stopped throwing up, mostly because there was nothing left in it, his stomach ached though, bands of cramping burning pain coiled tight around his abdomen. It felt like someone had put ground up glass and acid under his skin! A grinding burning sensation every time he moved. His head was pounding, even in the near pitch dark of the little bathroom, the slightest glint of light off the porcelain or tile felt like a needle through his eye and into his skull. The pressure and coolness of the wall he leaned against helped a little, but not much.

Worst of all he couldn't get up. It felt like his limbs didn't have enough blood in them and his joints hurt too much to force it, it felt like he'd been slumped in this position for so long that his arms and legs had forgotten how to move. He was too tired anyway... Not sleepy tired exhausted tired. Mildly delirious probably. Kept blinking in and out of consciousness. He'd fall asleep, or more pass out, for only a few moments before being jerked awake by another weak heave of his stomach or a throb of pain from something else somewhere inside him. Like a pulled muscle or snapped tendon or broken bone or... No that was stupid...

His sense of time and space wavered in the dark. Sounds too loud, distorted and somehow too far away. It was kind of hot in here. Too cold. Pretty sure he was drenched in sweat...

There was a clicking or clacking, or maybe someone hammering nails right next to his ears...

Breathing, sniffing, like a hurricane, a shape in front of him, blocking out what little light there was. Oh thank god, that felt a fragment better.

Green in the dark, bright and dazzling, man, he really liked that color... Oh, eyes. Those were eyes "Simmin'..." he said, maybe, probably, his mouth tasted like shit, his throat was like ripping a Band-Aid off a septic wound, "I can't get... Think... 'M not doing so good..." it was getting too hot...

He shivered.

The eyes disappeared and something cool and wet touched his forehead briefly. Grif whined, too cold...

"You have a fever."

Wait...

Wait... What...

Cinnamon was talking now. Oh, that was probably bad... Audio hallucination... Oh boy... Probably had to be because that voice was familiar but Grif wad totally sure he'd never heard it before. That and it sounded like the voice's owner was trying to talk through sandpaper. So.

Well... At least he'd be entertained!

Grif giggled around the gravel in his throat, clenching his eyes as he wavered in and out of whatever fun fever dream he'd careened into...

Talking dog he could handle. Just please no talking furniture... Appliances... Sports equipment...

Don't watch Beauty and the Beast when you're twelve and home sick with a fever of 103... Just a word of advice kiddos!

Dimly in the dark, he heard someone moving about... Someone heavy... Something heavy...

The basement!

Grif jerked, flailing at nothing, presumably, couldn't see shit in the dark. The relief the rush of panic brought was gone almost the instant it came and his joints all wailed in pain. A burning awful pain. Like... Like... His mind brought forth scattered images from the far too many zombie movies he'd watched. Of people dying and decaying. Of infection so bad that joints dissolved to rotted slime and just fell the fuck off.

Grif coughed, dry heaving over the tiled floor. Distantly he was grateful his stomach didn't have anything left to give. Just an excess of saliva and the taste of acid in his mouth...

Hands? No... Well... Maybe? Paws? Paws were furry. Hands were not. Someone was gently helping him back up to a sitting position. He wasn't really sure if his eyes were open or not... What he was seeing wasn't real, couldn't rely on anything right now. Just hyper-fixated on the texture of the red bandanna... Banana... Ba na nananana... Batman...

Something wet was set on his burning forehead and Grif whined miserably. Hands batting weakly at the offending, freezing, object. Well, he would have if he could move his arms... It hurt...

"Stop that," the creature's (Cinnamon's?) scratchy voice chided softly, "its just a wet washcloth. You have a fever. I need to get you cleaned up before I can get you in bed."

But it huuuurt... No more. Do not want!

"I know... I'm sorry M- Grif, I'm breaking your rules just... Let me help you."

His chest felt tight and tears prickled in Grif's eyes. He didn't like the tone in that voice... Something so tired and forlorn, something resigned in a way that seemed far too painful.

"Don't..." he said, pretty sure he said it, "'s okay... You c'n help..."

The washcloth (that's what it was right?) returned, and Grif tried to stay still even as whines and whimpers slipped out despite his best efforts. It sucked, really did, because, on the one hand, the cold water was blissful on his burning skin, pushing back the horrible heat as it swept over his forehead, face, the back of his neck, and his throat. On the other hand, his nerves were shot and the cold was like knives, his body jerked and flinched every time it touched somewhere, and that just made his joints ache even more.

Fuck.

"We need to get you in bed." the voice returned when the coolness vanished, "You can't stay on the floor."

"Can't get up..." Grif mumbled.

"Okay." the voice replied softly, "I'll help you. Just... Um... Let me get over-" there was an awkward kind of shuffle, something bumped into something else, there was an annoyed whine from a dog somewhere, then a warm something, furry something, moved under his crumpled legs, another wedged its way carefully between his back and the wall. There was an abrupt wave of vertigo and then the sensation of movement and he was leaning against something soft, something that seemed to breathe under his ear, something with a heartbeat.

Even in his deliriously fevered state, it felt oddly... Relaxing. Grif didn't even realize he'd dozed off, just a distant feeling of being set down on a soft cool surface.

 

* * *

 

          The next few... Days? Hours? Weeks? Years? Minutes? Were a fractured haze of nonsensical moments and sensations.

At some point, he woke up when exactly was a good question, but he was burning up and was so desperately thirsty. He didn't even question the glass of ice cold water sitting on his bedside table. Somewhere in his head, he knew he should drink it slowly but that was shoved away the instant the chilled liquid touched his tongue and he'd gulped it down voraciously in only a few seconds. He ended up curled up in pain for a bit after that, stomach punishing him for the sudden presence inside it. Thankfully he kept it down.

  
He wasn't nearly as lucky with the bowl of soup he discovered the next time he crawled out of his illness induced unconsciousness.

  
The next time he woke up, or thought maybe he did, it was to the sound of someone moving around in the other room. Grif blinked slowly at the blurry ceiling as the image swam in and out of darkness. His eyes hurt, the lids far too heavy, his head pounded, his body ached. He felt a lot cooler than before though... Oh. There was something on his forehead... Wet washcloth. And... A weight on his chest? It was weird like he knew it was there, knew it was wet and very cold, but he like... Couldn't really register its presence? Why would there be-? What was it even?

_Bag of ice. You put on the chest and it cools the blood in the greatest amount and fights a fever._

Well okay, brain. If you say so...

There was water running... Something clinked against something else... Was someone doing dishes?

Kai...?

Wonder what day it was...? Did she come over on her own? Did Tucker tell her he was sick...?

He took care of her when they were little... Every cold... Every flu... The time she had chickenpox... That ear infection that had left her crying for hours on end... She didn't have to pay him back...... Wish she didn't have to see him like this... She was such a strong kid, but she got scared so easily when it came to him...

Sorry, Sis...

 

* * *

         

          Grif jerked awake.

Every muscle taut and burning he curled into himself. He. He needed to- Something was wrong. Very very wrong. Against the acidic pain of the motion, in a delirious and feverish haze, he flung his body to the side, hands bracing against the edge of the bed, shaking violently with the titanic effort of holding his body up. His mouth watered and stomach heaved. There was nothing to throw up. Just a burn in his throat.

Something was wrong.

He couldn't – Couldn't stop, couldn't _breathe_! Help! Someone!

His chest heaved as a fit of coughing tore through him. Something disgusting was dripping from his nose, sweat was running down his face in rivulets, tears joined them soon as he coughed harder. There was an awful smell. A horrible horrible smell. Like meat, overly done with basil, sickly sweet, bitterly pungent and sour, a sewer smell. Dead meat smell. Panic seized him even tighter, his fingers gripped so hard against the bed frame he swore the bones made an audible sound.

 

_The bathroom. Something had been wrong. He knew. Knew when he'd taken Kai on that trip to see their grandparents. Mom not being there when they got back wasn't abnormal, but it didn't take long to notice the smell._

_That week had been scorching and humid and the stink clung to everything._

 

Copper. The smell grew stronger and stronger, joining the wretched sickeningly familiar stink. He tasted it in his mouth.

Something squishy and solid passed over his teeth. Wet splattered on the floor.

 

_He was stupid to look. But how was he supposed to know what he'd find? He wasn't a kid, physically, hadn't been one mentally for a long long time... But he'd never seen a... When would he have even?_

 

A sound left him. Then another. A pathetic, panicked, animal sound. The sounds people make when something is so terrible they stop being people.

Help! Oh god! Someone, please!

 

_How had he kept Kai out of the house he didn't know. Just sort of grabbed her and dragged her outside. Neighbors had a phone. She didn't seem to notice the red and blue lights, or at least never questioned them. Maybe because she couldn't see their colors..._

 

Hands caught hold of his shoulders and he thrashed against them in panic. Someone pleaded with him to calm down. He didn't recognize-

 

_"Son? Can I talk to you for a moment?"_

 

He was gonna die! Cough out all his organs! He was so hot, cooking from the inside! Everything in him was all rotten! He'd die! Bloat up and melt into slime and suffer and die and die and die and die and **die**!

 

_"Dex? Where's mommy?"_

_"She... Um..."_

 

There were arms around holding him still, a hand in his hair pressing his head against a shoulder and his hands scrabbled and clutched at the other person as sobs clawed their way out of him.

 

_"Do you have somewhere to stay until this place is cleaned up?"_

_"Yeah... Like a hotel I guess. Friend's house."_

_"Your sister is a minor, is there someone who can take care of her?"_

_"Yeah."_

_"You'll need to talk to social services-"_

 

Please... Please... Oh god...

 

_"Dex? Where's mommy?"_

_"She... Went to join the circus."_

_"Really?! That's so cool Dex! Think we'll get to go see her!?"_

_"...Sure... Maybe."_

 

Kai. Kai... Kai. Where was she? He... Kai. I'm so scared. Kai...

 

_"Funeral arrangements will have to be made-" "Your mother-" "Can't afford-" "Substance abuse can run in the family, overdose is a serious matter-" "Trauma counseling is expensive but I'm sure you'll find-" "Should the court find you to be an unsuitable guardian-"_

 

**KAI!**

 

* * *

 

          _The smell is overpowering. He recognizes it before his eyes properly take in the scene._

_Blood._

_There's so much. So much it would almost be comedic, almost be a joke, there's simply no way the human body can contain that much blood!_

_But it can and it does._

_It lays in black pools on the wooden floor of the large hall, is strewn in great ribbons and smears of bright scarlet and dulling brownish red on the surfaces of furniture, arcing up the walls, even, occasionally falling with a crystalline plip from spatters on the ceiling._

_They're dead._

_All of them._

_The bodies of the few small rabbits he'd caught hit the floor with a dull thump, his fingers numb and unable to hold the cord they're tied with._

_The beast looks up at him, crouched as it is over what is left of his father, somehow he knows it's him, despite being mangled far, **far** , worse than the others. It licks the blood and gore from its muzzle, fangs glinting white like shards of ice, eyes flashing golden embers, jet black fur glossy and wet with blood, like liquid night._

_He screams._

 

**I warned you.**

 

* * *

 

          It's dark... Far too hot, scalding, Grif was pretty sure that all his skin must have burnt off by now... He felt oddly numb... Like he knew he was in pain, so much fucking pain, and he felt it, but he also kind of didn't? Like he was completely divorced from the situation? Did that make sense? Probably not. Probably as much sense as the vague notion of shapes that he thought he kind of saw... Just gray hazy shapes, some bright, some dark, three dimensional one instant and flat the next. With static like textures that hurt, scraped like sandpaper, scratched like nails, shredded like broken glass, despite being too far away to actually touch him.

Or were they? Maybe? Space didn't make a lot of sense right now and ideas were hard to hold onto. Be really helpful if the bed would stay still though, it was rotating in no particular direction and Grif tried to push back into the mattress to keep from falling off as the mattress leisurely spun face down.

...

He thought... Wait...

He focused as hard as his scrambled brain would let him. Yeah, someone was talking... Somewhere...

"....Please........need your help..."

Huh?

"He's very sick, too sick...... Not a disease... Thought he'd do it himself, but he didn't..."

Who was that? The voice was so familiar...

Something answered, or at least Grif thought it did. It wasn't words... A sound? Sort of high pitched...

... Was that a cat?

"I know. I thought he was a...... I made a mistake. I need to fix...... Will you help me?"

There was a low tapping, something on metal?

"That's all?" silence, "No, I can get that its no problem." another pause, "Yes but, I can't leave him right now...... Not safe, the...... So can it wait until after?"

Could what wait till when...? What did he have? Grif gave up on trying to figure it out as the pain and exhaustion won out and he lost consciousness.

 

* * *

 

        _It was warm. Not the unpleasant horrible heat from before... Wait, before when...? Eh, didn't matter. What mattered was that it was the good kind of warm, the toasty, buttery, warm that made you wanna curl up in your bed and nap all day._

_Speaking of... That was really nice too... But... Wait... This wasn't his bed... It was really comfy though. Soft and silky... Slowly Grif cracked an eye open. Huh... Sleepily he ran his finger through the material he was laying on. It was fur. Well... Furs. In his immediate vision was a white and gray pelt, with some smatterings of black, peeking out from under it a bit away was a tuft of brown. Rolling a bit to the side Grif could see the slightly golden white fur of the skin draped over him like a blanket._

_Okay... That was kind of odd..._

_Carefully he eased himself up into a sitting position, taking in his surroundings._

_He was in... A cave? No... More like a borrow? That's what you called a 'cave' dug into the dirt, right? It wasn't overly small, didn't seem to be anyway, he felt like if he wanted to he could stand up and not hit the ceiling. The actual space itself wasn't very large, however, most of it was occupied by this pile of furs, a big sort of nest of them. Looking over he could see the ends of pine branches poking out, forming a kind of frame/foundation for the pelts. On the far side, there was a kind of pit, wide and framed with flat rocks, providing a barrier between the small fire smoldering away inside it and the stack of wood nearby. Lastly, there was an entrance of sorts, not so small you couldn't get out, but you'd have to crouch for sure. Outside of it Grif could make out the shape of pine branches slightly obscuring things, and past that the sharp snap of white snow covering everything else._

_It gave the weird impression that nothing else in the world existed outside of this place. Strangely, Grif couldn't find it in himself to be worried or alarmed about that. Or anything else really. Who could be when this place was so cozy? The warm smell of earth and pine floating through the air, a hint of wood smoke from the fire, an occasional nip of fresh crisp air from outside, and the strangely soothing animal smell from the furs. It was oddly familiar..._

_He did wonder absently exactly where his clothes were... Pretty sure he'd had those at some point... Ah well... Not like he hadn't said 'fuck it' before and slept naked..._

_Just as Grif was about to curl back up into a fur-lined burrito and go back to sleep, he heard something. Sounded like some kind of animal wandering through the snow. Eyeing the entrance the heavy man thought he could make out a large shape moving just outside, something big, sort of like a gigantic dog maybe...? Or...? The shape moved forward out of the blinding light and then to Grif's surprise stood up, and, oh-! It was a person! A man to be exact. Hey! He knew that guy! The redhead from before! The one dressed up in furs like some kind of scrawny nerdy Viking! Simmons? Simmons._

_Grif coughed awkwardly, feeling his face heat up. Well... This was um... See normally he didn't care about being in the buff, sleeping naked was the shit, but... In a situation like this... Him, here in this nice, well not bed per say, but here and 'exposed' with a not unattractive (or maybe now Grif was just realizing he was cute, or had already thought so and was now just admitting it) guy who had decidedly more clothes on than he did..._

_Kind of made him feel like the protagonist in one of those Harlequin romance novels._

_Wasn't this the part where things got all flowery and saccharine sweet as the girl's heart got all fluttery at the sight of this dude she was just now infatuated with? Writing it like it was love when really they were just going to fu-_

_Simmons started with surprise and blinked at him, "Oh... Uh, I didn't expect you to be awake..."_

_"Where are my pants?" Grif blurted like a gigantic idiot._

_Was it bad that he kind of maybe sort of, really, liked the way Simmons' pale face turned red, and the way he stammered and nervously fussed with the rusty fur of his cloak?_

_"I don't- I don't know. You were the one who- you're the one who thought it would be more comfortable! I can't control what goes on in your head!" the redhead stammered, voice squeaking indignantly._

_Oh **no** , it was fun to rile him up!_

_"Well, how did I get here?" Grif pressed, it still didn't much feel like the answer to that mattered, he kind of just wanted to see how Simmons would react._

_The redhead seemed to wilt a bit, like a scolded puppy, "I brought you. It was- you're really sick right now." something about how he said the word 'sick' made it seem like he wasn't being totally honest, "I thought if you were here you wouldn't have to suffer. It was... Very hard to watch."_

_The redhead sat down shyly beside him, gently pushing Grif's shoulder to make him lay down again, which the heavier man did without complaint as the redhead pulled the large white pelt back over him. A faint guilt pulled at Grif's chest, maybe he shouldn't have tried to rile him up? Now that he thought about it, he did sort of recall not feeling well, it was hazy and sort of hard to hold onto, like a dream. He felt exhaustion tugging at his brain._

_"You should rest. It won't be too long now. You'll be better soon, I'll fix it."_

_Grif felt another pang in his chest, not guilt this time, well not entirely guilt. Outside of Kai (Of whom he'd made a point not to end up in a situation where she'd have to) had anyone else ever wanted to take care of him? Kind of a pathetic thing to think really... He was an adult after all. What kind of adult couldn't take care of themselves?_

_Simmons leaned over him, brushing his hair away from his face, the taller man then turned to find something or other in the bag tied at his hip, and Grif was thankful for that, maybe it meant he hadn't heard the way his breath had caught in his throat, or seen his face start to heat up again. But... Grif found himself thinking as the redhead turned back and started to lean over him, hand reaching towards him. But. If this was just a dream... Then maybe... Maybe..._

_Grif caught Simmons' wrist, ignoring the dark red substance on the first two fingers, it wasn't important and reached up with his own hand to gently cup Simmons' cheek. Surprised green eyes fluttered shut and Simmons leaned into the touch, features scrunching up in a pained kind of sadness and Grif was struck with the idea that it was the expression of a person who had been longing for contact for a horribly long time. Grif tried to lean up a bit as he shifted his hand more towards Simmons' neck, gently pulling him down towards him._

_He could feel the soft warmth of the other man's breath, their lips only a fraction apart when those beautiful (it was okay to call them that right? Wasn't too corny?) green eyes opened again suddenly._

_"Don't." Simmons said softly, looking like it physically hurt to say that, "I'm sorry," he struggled, "you're... And I'm a- you need to get better first. Then... I-" he bit his lip, "I don't know." he finished in quiet admission._

_When he was better, huh? Okay, fine._

_With a sigh that was hopefully not too disappointed, trying to play it off as nonchalant, Grif relaxed against the furs again, closing his eyes he became aware once more of just how tired he felt. How sad was that? Tired in a dream..._

_There was a cool touch to his forehead (the dark red substance on Simmons' fingers? What was that?) tracing an unknown pattern or shape against his skin with a practiced sort of precision. "There..." Simmons all but whispered Grif might not have heard him if he wasn't so close, "Just rest okay? I'll fix this, you'll be fine."_

_There was a pause, a hesitation, and then Grif felt a slight ghost of breath and then a light pressure against his hairline. How much was Simmons blushing now? He wondered._

_There was a slight shifting and then a weight against his chest, Simmons' head if the distant sounding voice meant anything, "I'm sorry Grif."_

_The darkness swallowed Grif up again before he could reply._

 

* * *

 

          Slowly, with a soft groan, Grif opened his eyes, blinking sluggishly as his ceiling came into focus. He felt... Better. Not back to normal but leagues better than before. The pain in his stomach, chest, abdomen, head, and joints was all but gone, replaced with a general dull ache. The crippling heat from his fever was down to just a noticeable warmness.

Now, more than anything, he just felt tired... Like he'd run a mile. Like he'd been hit by a truck.

...like he'd had a terrible drug trip.

With a quiet grunt, he tried to raise his too heavy head, having now just become aware of a weight on his chest.

The familiar view of red fur greeted him.

His chest tightened in fondness, and Grif managed to lift a heavy hand to gently pet the giant head. One of Cinnamon's ears twitched but otherwise, he didn't move. His eyes were closed and his breathing was deep and even. Poor pup, seemed like he was totally whipped out... He must have been pacing around all worried and anxious while he was bedridden and delirious. Finally wore himself out with his vigil and fell asleep.

He was gonna get him something good, Grif decided as he started to drift off again, maybe take him to that big pet store downtown? Let him pick out a toy or treats?

What would a dog want...?

 

* * *

 

          Grif woke with a yawn and a bone-deep satisfying stretch. Oh man. He felt so much better!

He lay there for a bit just lazing about, finally lifting his head when he thought he heard someone fussing about in the kitchen.

Who would be...? Oh!

"Buddy?" he called out, voice gravelly and scratchy, ow still stung a bit, "That you out there?"

There was a moment of silence, then a scramble of nails and bounding of paws and within seconds Cinnamon was barreling through his door, tail going nuts, big old dog smile on his goofy mug. The large dog wasted no time hopping up onto the bed, sniffing Grif's face all over. He even clapped his front paws on Grif's shoulders, rubbing his big fluffy noggin on Grif's.

"Ack!" the Hawaiian squawked, trying to push the animal back enough to reclaim his personal space, "Oh my god! Stop-! I'm glad to see you too!" he wrangled the hound into a kind of headlock, energetically rubbing his belly. Cinnamon babbled excitedly at him, rump shimmying around on the blanket, tongue lolling out of his mouth as he panted happily.

"Who's a good boy?" Grif teased with a shit eating grin, "Who stayed here while I was sick? Was it _you_?"

Cinnamon barked in agreement.

"Hello!? Dex?! Are you fucking dead!?" the shout, paired with his bedroom door being more or less kicked the rest of the way open nearly gave Grif a heart attack.

"Jesus fuck Kai!" he squawked, reflexively yanking Cinnamon up awkwardly, like a little kid who thought their stuffed animal would protect them from monsters, "What the hell are you doing here!?"

"Making sure you're not dead! I was worried sick about you!" his sister shot back, "I texted and called you like a million times! Did you even check your fucking phone?!"

"I was sick?" Grif offered up by way of explanation. Sorry for not picking up but you know, fever and all.

Kai huffed, deflating a little, "Well," she started, slowly picking up steam, "Do you know how freaked out I was when I came in here? Like I fucking thought- I mean, Tucker told me you were sick, I didn't think you'd lost your mind too!"

Grif narrowed his eyes at his sister, "What's that's supposed to mean? What freaked you out?" his glare grew more intense, "And what are you doing talking to Tucker?"

"For suck's sake **Dexter** it's not like that," Kai rolled her eyes, "Don't know why the two of you can't figure that out! He called me because you were out sick and wanted to make sure someone checked on you. And lastly!" here her expression became one torn between concern and confusion, "You can't tell me this isn't freaky." she made a sweeping gesture to indicated well... Everything.

"What is that supposed to-" Grif cut himself off part way through the redundant question, finally noticing and taking in the room.

It... Was clean.

Like clean, _clean_. Clean, clean, clean, clean, **CLEAN**! No clothes, dirty or otherwise, tossed and left wherever they fell. No food sitting on his dresser or table. No wrappers. No long forgotten dirty dishes. The floor was spotless!

The dresser drawers were all closed, the surface had been whipped clean, the objects on top organized. The closet door was partially open, in like a stylistic kind of way? And Grif could make out neatly lined up clothes on hangers in the dim light. There was even an old plain mirror he could have sworn had been lost to the void, dusted off and hung on the folding door. The lone creaky bookcase was organized, the few books he owned all lined up, comics and anthologies in neat stacks, what looked like his spare sheets and blankets all folded and stored on the bottom shelf, and- were those his old models and action figures!? He hadn't been able to find those in- well, ever! And now they were all lined up and posing heroically on the upper shelves!

"...What the _fuck_...?" Grif gaped, slowly his gaze fell from the eerie sight of his clean room to an even more unsettling sight. The sheets on his bed were not the ones that had been on it before. They were crisp and clean (redundant but it bared repeating!) and both them and the blanket were not ones he remembered ever owning. Were these... **New**?!

"How sick _were_ you?" his sister asked, gone from worried anger to just worry (which he was even less of a fan of) moving over to put the back of her hand on his forehead, which Grif batted away.

"Not _this_ sick!" Grif protested, "If the whole place is like this there's no way it was me. You can't clean an entire apartment in an afternoon!"

"Afternoon?" Kai blinked then snorted, "Dude, what day do you think it is?"

"...Wednesday?" Grif replied, stomach already sinking because he knew by her tone he was already wrong.

"It's Friday. Almost four o clock."

The fuck..? He'd lost almost three days?! How sick had he been?! Had he really been so delirious he'd cleaned his whole place? What else had he done? ...What had he forgotten to do...?

" _Oh my god_..." he looked at Cinnamon in sudden concern, "Oh buddy, did I feed you!? I don't remember-"

"I'm sure you did," Kai assured him, sitting on the edge of the bed and sneaking her arm around him, hugging her worried brother, "There's like groceries and shit on the kitchen table." she furrowed her brow again, "Next time you get sick like that you gotta call me you dummy. You get all weird when you do and this is pretty fucking weird."

"Yeah..." Grif replied numbly, trying to shake off the disturbed feeling.

Cinnamon whined worriedly at him, leaning up to bop his snout against his chin again.

"Aww, look how worried he is about you!" Kai cooed, "You also didn't tell me you adopted him you butt hole! I'm gonna have to visit way more often now!" she seized the sides of Cinnamon's head, meshing his face affectionately, "Won't I? Yes, I _wiiiiill_!"

Standing back up she clapped her hands together, "Okay! Enough mopey crap! I'm gonna go see what you got at the store while you were a zombie and then I'm gonna do something with it and you're gonna eat it!"

"Please don't," Grif whined, starting to feel more normal, "I just got over being sick, I don't need to do it again!"

" **Oh, no**!" Kai called, already heading back down the hall, "I'm too far away to hear you telling me how good my cooking is and how much you're looking forward to it!"

Grif sighed, rubbing his face into Cinnamon's neck, hugging him tight for a long moment until he felt grounded. "Okay buddy," he mumbled, "go make sure she doesn't kill us, I'll be right out. Don't worry."

Cinnamon grumbled a bit but did what he was told, slinking off the bed and looking over his shoulder at the door as though to make sure Grif was still there before trotting off down the hall (presumably) towards Kai's shriek of "Holly shit there's a whole fucking **watermelon**!"

Then he was alone, here in his suddenly unfamiliar room.

It... Wasn't bad, not exactly it was just... He didn't remember doing this, and that was weird enough, but also, there was just something about this- how could he put it?

Slowly he got out of bed, waiting for the slight leftover dizziness to pass before examining the space. The way this was done, it didn't feel like he'd done it. It didn't look like a room a person had cleaned because it was theirs. It looked like...

...Like...

Grif took down one of his figures, a super cool space guy from a game he'd loved as a kid, smashing a monster with one heavy boot and shooting another in the face. Slowly he put it back, trying to place it just as it had been. Not casually. Carefully.

...Lovingly?

No, yes. Sort of. Not out of love for the figure but- No! That was it! That was what was weird! It felt like a room someone had cleaned for someone else! Grif frowned, eyes flicking around the room again. Had he maybe...? Maybe while he was sick he'd imagined his apartment was someone else's? He'd had... Dreams. Hadn't he? Imagined someone? That had to be it...

Right?

Right.

Answer tentatively held, he moved to close the window behind his bedside table, a sudden breeze drawing his attention to it. He'd probably opened it to get cool air, it had been hot as hell, he did remember that!

Gripping the frame he paused, what was that?

On the grating of the fire escape, just outside the window, was a small dish, a few dried scraps indicating it had been filled with cat food not that long ago.

Huh... That was weird...

Grif puzzled at it if he'd done that too... Why? He thought... Vaguely he remembered dreaming about a cat... or something? Maybe there _had_ been a cat, like one he'd seen and when he was out of it he'd fed it? Must have. Something ate that food. Either a stray cat or a really lucky raccoon... Absentmindedly he scratched his forehead, his fingers froze almost immediately.

What was **that**?!

His fingers had brushed against something dry and flaky, something in oddly spread out patches. Pulling his fingers away Grif looked intently at his nails. Little tiny flecks of... black? The hell...? Worry gnawing at his stomach, Grif quickly pushed the window closed, leaning close to the glass to try and make out his reflection. There **was** something there! Hard to make out but there were slight, smudges? Scratches? Of black? No! Brown! Brown something...No... Red.

 

_-the dark red substance on ------s' fingers? What was that?_

 

Grif jerked back abruptly, startled by the flash of... memory? Like a half-remembered dream, the hell had he been doing!? In his haste, his elbow bumped something and the object tumbled off his bedside table and landed on the floor with a dull thump.

He looked down at it, recognizing it right away, it was a little pot, the one where he'd put the little pine tree Cinnamon had brought him that day at the park, by some miracle it had landed standing straight up. His eyes slowly grew wide and a shiver went down his back as he registered what he was seeing.

The tree was dead.

Slowly the heavy man sank down to his knees, shakily reaching out to examine it but not fully committing, torn between wanting to understand what had happened to it and an inexplicable fear of how this could have happened. The sight of it struck something in him, just, the way it looked, dried out, almost black in color. What had happened to it? How did it die in such a short-?

He was startled again when his eyes caught on the shape of something poking out from under his bed. The corner of a... Crate? No, too shallow. What was-?

Grif reached out, almost against his own will, trembling fingers gingerly pulling the container out. It was a plastic pallet, the kind you put plants in. The big kind, almost three feet by three feet. Inside, packed from one end to the other were dozens of tiny pine saplings no more than two inches tall at most.

_Every single one was dead._   
  


To be Continued.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy! We took a hard left back into "serious" territory there! Hopefully that wasn't too bad for everyone! (Sadly I'm not the best judge of what might be considered 'too gross' or 'too far' for other people so I try to err on the side of caution when it comes to warnings ^^0 )
> 
> As always please let me know if there are any grievous errors I've missed or anything that just doesn't sit right! I'd love to know what you guys thought! Your feedback is super helpful and gives me creative fuel! If you want to check out my art work or even just say hello, feel free to stop by my tumblr! Here--> http://cc-sketchbook.tumblr.com
> 
> See you guys next time! ~ Much love, CC

**Author's Note:**

> Shorter than some of my other (probably notoriously long) chapters but I hope you still enjoyed it! I'm drawing on a lot of old werewolf mythology for this one and am also taking inspiration from novels like "The were-wolf"(1896) by Clemence Housman and "The White Wolf of the Hartz Mountains" (1839) by Captain Frederick Marryat. Both are great reads and I recommend them. (I also recommend "The Refugee" by Jane Rice which has some pretty great dark humor and is about a vapid American girl stuck in war torn Paris dealing with an inhuman guest.)
> 
> If you guys have any werewolf-y shenanigans you'd like to see, feel free to let me know and I'll see about incorporating them, just remember, Grif doesn't know Simms ins't a dog. ;)
> 
> As always I'd love to know what you guys though! Your feedback is super helpful and gives me creative fuel! If you want to check out my art work or even just say hello, feel free to stop by my tumblr! Here--> http://cc-sketchbook.tumblr.com
> 
> See you guys next time! ~ Much love, CC


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